


Resonance

by Batwynn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Blind Character, Blindness, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Lies, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Sad Loki, Snarky Tony, Tony lies, Whump, and someone keeps bringing the wrong fruit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has been blinded thanks to an accident he can fully blame on SHIELD, and well, that's pretty much the end of his life. Or, so he thinks, until a mysterious British man starts visiting him in his hospital room. He doesn't tell him who he is, but he likes to read to Tony, and there's blueberries, and conversation, and goodbye kisses.</p><p>Of course, nothing lasts forever. Chaos has a way of dropping in unannounced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meant to be Seen, Not Heard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocatits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocatits/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Please do not share, repost, translate, or create printed copies of this fic without my express permission.

                                                                  [](http://photobucket.com/)

 

 

 

"Hello."

 

Tony turned towards the voice, a scowl already in place for the stranger who dared to enter his room. Company was not very welcome, not even Rodney, or Steve, and especially not Pepper. But he knew all of their voices by now, and this was not one of the familiar ones.

 

"I told them I didn't want an assistant, so you can fuck right off from—"

 

"I am not your 'assistant'."

 

His scowl eased into a confused frown, and he continued to stare pointlessly at what he assumed, by the deeper voice, was a guy.

 

"Who are you, then?" He asked slowly, keeping his body turned towards him and making sure to remember to blink even behind his dark sunglasses. He had managed to fool people before, he could do it again.

 

"Do you not recognize me? I rather thought I struck a stronger cord than that."

 

Tony turned away again and started picking at the edge of his blanket.

 

So he did know him, then. That wasn't good, it was harder to pretend he was okay with someone he's met before. But, who did he know that spoke in that drawling British accent and supposedly left an impression on him? Someone from the company... no, no one had visited from Stark Industries yet. Not that he expected any of his staff or board members to come see him, they weren't exactly close.

 

Maybe a fellow scientist or engineer? That was even more unlikely, considering that most others in the field hated his guts. Unless... unless this was one of his competitors, here with the intent to kill him or rub his failure in his face. He hoped it was the former.

 

"I don't remember you, and you can leave now."

 

There was a delicate snort, and Tony felt the bed by his legs dip under the stranger's weight.

 

"I find that hard to believe, Stark," the man said, "I rather thought you would give me a much more explosive greeting. I must admit, I am rather disappointed in your lackluster performance."

 

"Oh, i'm _sorry_ , I wasn't aware of your royal status," Tony snapped, turning back to him and furrowing his brows. Shit, he hoped he was at least facing the right direction. "Should I clap? Am I supposed to kneel and kiss your feet?"

 

There was a short, tense silence, but Tony could hear the smirk in the man's voice when he spoke again, "kneeling yes, feet kissing, no."

 

"I'm not kneeling to you, you freak."

 

"Ah, I had forgotten your disinterest in adapting any form of manners."

 

"Unless you're the fucking Queen of England, which I highly doubt, unless she's gone through a sex change and lost a few years, i'm _not_ kneeling to you."

 

"Would you have a drink with me, then?" The voice asked, and Tony forgot to blink.

 

 _That_ , was familiar. Those words, that tone, the same inflections even. Why the hell was that familiar?

 

"I'm in a hospital," he replied at last, well aware of how bitter his voice sounded. "I don't think the nurses here are the type to wear skimpy dresses and serve booze."

 

Tony waited, and waited, and waited for a response. At one point, he was convinced the man had somehow snuck out of the room again without him hearing it. So when the voice spoke up again, he jerked in surprise at the sudden sound.

 

"Stark... why are you here?"

 

"Bladder infection," he lied.

 

"Stark."

 

"Yep, not enough cranberries, apparently. I mean, I eat blueberries by the truck load, but that's—"

 

"Why won't you look at me?" The stranger interrupted, causing Tony to choke on his words.

 

He hadn't been facing the right direction after all, what an idiot! He knew his ears weren't good enough for this, too many explosions and too much loud music. At least, according to Pepper.

 

Who was this, anyway? Who the hell supposedly knew him, but didn't have even an inkling of what happened? Anyone of the Avengers, members of SHEILD, hell, even some of the local police force knew what happened.

 

Well, he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him, the British bastard could be one of press for all he knew.

 

"I don't want to see your face,” he quipped lamely, “is that a problem?"

 

"No, that is not it," the voice said, sounding much closer suddenly," you look but you do not _see_."

 

Tony's shoulders hunched inwards as he tried to pull away, but there was no where to escape to but back into his mountain of pillows. He was trapped, and he didn't liked that feeling very much.

 

"Stark..."

 

" _Don't_ ," he begged, squeezing his eyes shut. Fingers ghosted over his face, and the glasses were pulled away. Swift but gentle fingers brushed over his scarred eyelids.

 

"Have you been blinded?"

 

Tony's breath hitched in his throat, his heart rate rising rapidly. He could hear the heart monitor scream at him, blaring into the silence as his answer. The stranger brushed his fingers across his skin, once, twice more, and a small, almost mournful sound filled the room.

 

Then, they were pulling away, and Tony almost leaned after them, craving the touch that had become soothing. There was a breath of air against his forehead, and the bed shifted gently.

 

Tony's voice cracked as whispered, "who _are_ you?" to an empty room.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey!"

 

"Fuck off, Clint."

 

"Aww, Tony, nooo..." Clint whined, coming closer anyway. Tony was suddenly assaulted by weird petting motions across his head and face.

 

"Would you cut that—" he swatted at him, "— _out_! What do you want, anyway? The so-called grapes your brought last time were actually dates. Who the hell gets that wrong? Even I could tell, and i'm blind."

 

"They taste the same."

 

Tony snorted and leaned back into his pillows, not bothering to keep up the pretense of normality. Clint was okay. In fact, he was the only one who didn't make him feel like a freak, or weak, or make him feel even remotely bad about being blinded. He didn't whisper around him, he didn't tip-toe around certain words, and he sure as hell didn't stop being his usual idiot self.

 

"Why are you blessing me with your idiotic presence, again?" Tony asked with a knowing smirk.

 

"I bring presents and a message from Fury," Clint replied, dropping something heavy on Tony's legs. He yelped, both in pain and surprise at his words.

 

A message from Fury was not a good sign. The man hadn't said anything since the accident, but it was pretty obvious what the situation was.

 

"I'm out, huh?"

 

Clint's silence was more than enough of an answer, and Tony turned away from the archer for the first time ever during one of his visits. He wasn't going to cry, hell, he didn't know if he even _could_ cry anymore. He just needed to look away, he needed to hide his face like a child. Because maybe if he hid behind his hands, the world would disappear.

 

"That's all from me in there," Clint said, sounding further away. Tony heard the door click open, and the sudden rush of hospital sounds filled the room. "There aren't any dates, by the way."

 

"If there are," Tony muttered, "i'm shoving them up your ass next time."

 

Clint just laughed, and Tony smiled until the door shut with a snap.

 

He found out later, when he finally managed to bring himself to open the package, that there _were_ dates after all. Luckily, for Clint, there was a wide assortment of other fruit as well. The archer even remembered his favorite chocolate covered blueberries, although, he had a sneaking suspicion Bruce had a hand in that.

 

Bruce. God, he missed Bruce the most. He visited for the first week after they tried to save his eyes, every day even. But after that, he stared coming less and less, and each visit had this weird tension. It wasn't until the last time he saw him that the scientist explained himself.

 

"I can't do this anymore, Tony."

 

Tony had been smiling, apparently oblivious to Bruce's real mood as they played twenty questions. His smile slipped at the distraught tone of his friend's voice.

"What do you mean, big guy? Just because i'm on a winning streak, doesn't mean you have to quit."

 

Bruce cleared his throat, and Tony heard him shift nervously in his chair.

 

"Can't do _what_ anymore, Bruce?"

 

There was a sigh before he spoke,

"I can't visit you like this anymore. Every time I see you it's like a knife to my chest. I've already had three panic attacks on my way through the hospital." He paused, his voice lowering, "you know how dangerous that is."

 

"I'm ... i'm upsetting you that much?"

 

"Not upsetting, no it's not... i'm not explaining myself well."

 

A prick of anger made Tony's throat close up, and he balled his fists into the thing hospital sheets. “Then leave! Just... _leave_ ,” he hissed, turning away from the man sharply. This wasn't happening, not now, not with Bruce. Bruce was his only escape from this place, his own little oasis.

 

Bruce started to backtrack, babbling out a slew of excuses, stated like facts. He kept going until Tony threw his lunch tray in his general direction and screamed in wordless rage at him.

 

He nearly missed it, over his own angry panting, the small “ _I'm sorry_ ,” that would be the last thing he heard from Bruce in weeks.

 

He missed him, hell, he wasn't even angry anymore. That had been unfair, screaming at him like that. Bruce was sensitive, not just because of the other guy, but just a fragile soul. Too many betrayals, too much hurt and loss in his past. For Tony to make him feel guilty for feeling hurt, that was just _wrong_. But he never got a chance to apologize, and he had too much pride to try to pass a message through anyone else for him. Clint had asked right out if they had a fight, and what did Tony do, and if he was going to apologize. He just snapped something nasty at the time, and Clint shrugged it off. It wasn't like Clint's life had been any easier, but some people are built differently than others. Insults rolled off the man like water off of Fury's bald head.

 

_Oh, right. Fury._

 

Tony scowled and shoved a handful of the blueberries into his mouth, chewing angrily. The man hadn't bothered to come himself, the fucking coward. This was his fault, Tony had decided, so he should come to personally grovel at his feet. If SHIELD hadn't asked for more weapons, and if Fury hadn't threatened him to make them, he wouldn't be here, sitting alone eating fruit he had to name by feeling their fucking shape.

 

He grabbed another handful and popped some into his mouth, not caring that his lips were probably turning blue from the juice. He knew he looked like shit, anyway. Not much he can do when he can't see himself to shave.

 

“You seem spirited.”

 

Tony choked and ended up tipping the entire basket of blueberries into his lap. After recovering some of his shattered dignity, he said, “Welcome back, mystery Brit.”

 

“Not sending me away like before?”

 

Tony pondered this a moment and shrugs nonchalantly. “If you help pick up my blueberries, you can stay.”

 

“Blueberries?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Those berries all over my lap... that are _blue_?”

 

There was a huff and Tony felt the man tilt the basket upright. “How uncreative a name.”

 

“What, you guys don't have blueberries in England?”

 

“Perhaps not,” the voice came from next to him.

 

Tony snorted in disbelief, and tried to scoop the berries out of his lap, not exactly willing to allow a stranger to dig around that close to his privates. When he couldn't find anymore, he leaned back and listened to the creak of the man's clothing. Leather, rather heavy clothing for a New York summer. Was he part of a biker gang? Did the Brits have bike gangs, and what would they even be called, the Dappers?

 

“Who are you?”

 

There was a brush of cold fingers against his lips, and a berry was popped into his mouth.

 

“What happened to you?” the man asked.

 

“What, can't wait to read it in the papers like everyone else?” Tony grumbled, pushing the blueberry around his mouth and popping it with his teeth.

 

There was another huff of laughter, and another berry was pushed past his lips.

“You think so highly of yourself, this injury matters so highly to the public?”

 

Clearly someone didn't know him as well as he thought he did. Tony sneered and crossed his arms, turning his face away. “I can see the headlines now, ' _Billionaire and Inventor, Tony Stark, Blinded by Science_ '.”

 

The man jabbed him in the cheek, startling him and shoving another berry in his open mouth.

This was by far the oddest thing he'd ever done with a stranger, and he has done some bizarre things. Being fed by a random British guy, someone he supposedly knew at some point, who didn't seem to know that much about him, but was more than willing to sit there and _feed_ him.

 

For the first time in a very long while, he was struck speechless. So, he just sat there and let those oddly chilled fingers push berries into his mouth one by one until they were gone. When he finally stopped, Tony let out a surprised grunt and reached out automatically before snatching his hand back.

 

“Uh, thanks, I guess. Do you do that for all the people you leave an 'impression' on?”

 

“No,” he answered and stood up from the bed. “I must go.”

 

“I'd show you the door, but you know...”

 

He was answered by another soft breath against his forehead, and it was hours later when he realized it was a goodbye kiss.

* * *

 

 

Tony found himself waiting for his biker gang Brit between his other visits. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Clint's dry humor and his god damn dates, or Natasha's silent visits where they played chess. He somehow beat her six out of the ten times they played, pretty good for a blind man. He still missed Bruce and their science chats, and he pointedly ignored Steve when he came to visit. That was a bridge that needed mending, but not any time soon. Not when the man hassled him along with Fury for those weapons.

 

No, it wasn't like he was lonely, but, he was _lonely_.

 

He liked his mystery guest, who had now taken it upon himself to feed Tony almost every visit, and Tony had made it a habit to save his fruits until he showed up. The visitor also started reading to him, old favorites that Tony had no idea how the man knew he liked them. They had been working their way through Lord of the Rings when the man suddenly stopped coming.

 

Tony didn't worry for the first day, but he saved a box of strawberries all the same. He didn't eat anything from the disgusting hospital 'food', because it was gross, not because he was waiting. He stole a strawberry in the late afternoon of the next day, and maybe he was starting to worry. Three days later, he was standing by the window, face pointed out blindly. Clint had asked him twice already why he pretended to look out before Tony told him it was just to feel the sun. The bastard then called him an old man, and tony managed to clip him with the chess board, earning him a much appealing squawk.

 

But he _was_ worried, really worried. He never got the sense that his mystery guest was in any trouble. He always seemed calm, collected, almost happy even. It was strange how much Tony could feel from him, almost as if losing his sight gave him a Spidey Sense or something. It was pretty useful, when someone was actually here. But the one person he wanted to visit most, was gone. Maybe he had said something that pissed him off, not that they talked that much. In fact, Tony hadn't said much other than, “Who are you?” and “You sound like a creaky bed, who wears leather in the summer?”

 

The man didn't seem pissed the last time he came, he even gave Tony the usual brush of a kiss across his forehead. It's not like he ever promised he would come back, he never promised anything. But Tony had a bad feeling about it. His Spidey Sense was tingling.

 

“No! You can't just—“

 

“Sir!”

 

“AWAY FROM ME, I AM VISITING A DEAR FRIEND!”

 

Tony's fingers froze over a strawberry, a wide grin breaking out across his face. Only one person had a voice like that, and talked like he swallowed a Shakespearean play. The door blew open and Tony turned to greet him automatically.

 

“Hey, Point Break!”

 

“Man of Iron!” Thor shouted amid the shushing and hissing from the nurses. “Upon my arrival to Midgard, I was told you had been wounded in battle, yet I see no wound. Are you well?”

 

Tony's smile faltered, only a little, and he flipped his dark glasses up, staring at Thor with scarred, ruined eyes. There was a hiss of surprise, and the door snapped closed as the nurses left begrudgingly.

 

Tony cleared his throat and tired to lighten the mood, “I know you love me, buddy, but you didn't have to come back from Asgard so early just for me.”

 

There was the unmistakable sound of Thor's heavy bulk sitting in the weak, plastic chair by the bed before he spoke, “My apologies, but I had not returned with the knowledge that you were wounded. I have come back for an unfortunate reason.”

 

“And that is? Don't tell me there's another global threat by flying horse women, again. That was not even funny. Why did you think that was funny?”

 

“Did you not enjoy the prank, friend?” Thor asked with a deep chuckle. His voice lowered into a serious tone as he continued, “No, I fear this is a very real crisis. My brother... Loki, has escaped from Asgard. We can only assume he returned here, since Heimdall only saw his departure from Asgard and nothing more.”

 

“Loki's here? On Earth? Since when?”

 

“He escaped his prison several months ago, but has been missing ever since. I would like to think him alive and well, not stirring up trouble... and yet, I cannot help but wonder if he has...”

 

Tony picked at the leaves at the top of his strawberry, a weird through passing through his mind. Loki, dead? No, his brain was absolutely sure he was not. Why he was so sure, he had no idea.

 

“Thor, buddy, I don't think a stubborn bastard like him would up and die like that. I mean, come on, that little shit was surrounded by us and he still has the audacity to ask for a dr... a drink.”

 

" _Would you have a drink with me, then?_ "

 

No, that wasn't what he had said, was it? Tony's brows drew together as he tried to remember. It had been almost a year ago, already, yet he could still see that look in Loki's eyes when he was carted back to Asgard.

 

“ _I'll have that drink now._ ”

 

Wait, that was...

 

“Oh my fucking _god_!” Tony yelped, his hand slapping over his mouth. It wasn't until Thor's massive hands were shaking him, his voice rumbling in his ears that he came back to reality.

 

“Man of—“

 

“You said he was here?” Tony interrupted, panic starting to well up in his stomach. It couldn't be, why _would_ it be? Why the hell would Loki come and visit him, never mind read to him, _feed_ him!?

“I believe he is. I sense his magic's presence somewhere within this realm.”

 

“T-then, you know where he is right now?”

 

Thor shifted in his chair, and the poor abused thing let out a warning groan. “No, I can only sense that he has lingered in this city for some time. Nearby, even. That is why I came here first, I was concerned he had been stalking you in your weakened state.” Thor paused for a moment, his voice sounding almost guilty when he continued, “You may be in danger, Man of Iron.”

 

Tony was pulling off all the leaves of his strawberries before he forced himself to stop and put the box of fruit down. It was Loki, it had to be. Now the question was, did he tell Thor? That would mean people sticking around his room, waiting for his mystery—well, not so mysterious anymore—guest. That would mean Thor capturing him and taking him back to Asgard without Tony ever getting his answer as to why the god was visiting him in the first place. That would mean no more readings, no more fruit stealing or snappy conversations. No more soft breathing, cold fingers, and delicate kisses for his forehead.

 

“Well,” he began slowly, “I'm sure there's a mistake. Why would he come here? I'm not even the one who threw him around like a rag-doll. If there's anyone you want to keep an eye on, it's Bruce.”

 

“The scientist and his other half?”

 

“Yeah, that one. He's back at the tower right now, have you checked there? Seems like a likely target for your pissed off brother.”

 

 

Thor's chair screamed as he stood, and heavy hands laid themselves on Tony's shoulders once more. “I am sorry you were hurt, my friend, and please alert me immediately if you see... if you have any clues that he has been around.”

 

“Of course,” Tony lied, “I'll see what I can do.”


	2. Signs Point to Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets no answers, only 'why, why why?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Any moments where Tony can see are from before the accident. 
> 
> ( sorry I didn't make it clear enough in the story.)

  
Loki. His biker gang, Lord of the Rings reading, fruit feeding, kiss giving almost-friend was _Loki_.  
  
The same guy who threw him out a window, and oh yeah, almost killed Phil.  
  
Tony scowled more at the thought of Phil than the window incident. Another lie from SHIELD, and a good one. What a better way to get your heroes to behave than to break them from the inside.  
  
Still, an alive Phil was better than a dead Phil. He just didn't appreciate finding out after he was fucking blinded and couldn't see the man again, even if he wanted too. Anyway, this was supposed to be about Loki.  
  
The thing was, Tony was good at reading people. Well, okay, not everyone. Pepper was a mystery he would never solve, and no longer had the option to try. But he could humbly admit that he knew precisely what buttons to push to get a person to reveal themselves for who they really were. His ability had been damped down considerably since the accident, but it didn't take a blind man to see that Loki is crazy. Or, _was_ crazy.  
  
Tony tried to remember what Thor had said about his brother's punishments when the blond returned to Earth previously. He had looked depressed, not the same 'kicked puppy' look when he usually talked about Loki, but down right hollowed out and empty. They weren't going to ask him at first, but after a week of nonstop rain and lightning storms, Natasha went after him for answers. Tony had a feeling she was just sick of the humidity ruining her hair.  
  
His answer was not what any of them expected. Tony had visions of an execution as the most drastic option, and a padded cell as the most lenient. What they did instead, was ten times worse. At first, they silenced him, Thor had said, with sewn lips. Tony figured it was a metaphor until Thor told them he had been forced to sew them himself.  
  
Bruce left the room at that point, going green for more than one reason, and Tony really didn't want to stay to hear the rest of it, himself. But he did, because he had to know why.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Magic," Thor answered, "his words give him magic."  
  
"Uh, no offense, but we've all seen him use magic without yelling 'abracadabra!'"  
  
Thor looked confused and ready to ask what sort of spell that was, when Natasha interject cooly, "You guys did more than just sew his mouth shut, didn't you?"  
  
Thor nodded solemnly, and when turned his face down, his voice came out low and flat, "his hands were also... kept from producing his spells."  
  
"Oh _Jesus_ ," Tony breathed, leaning back into the couch he had snagged when they first sat down. "Do I even want to know how? Let me guess, you broke them?"  
  
Thor let out a pained groan and met his eyes. That was more than enough of an answer, but Thor explained anyway, "his hands were pressed between two metal plates, spelled to stay closed for an eternity, or until he was deemed worthy of their release. They were tightened till his bones broke, and he had not even an inch to move his fingers."  
  
The silence after his words was filled with everyone's own mental images of it, until Tony spoke up again.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Thor furrowed his brow. "His magic is—"  
  
"No, no. You're missing the big, shiny, lit up question here."  
  
"Tony..." Natasha warned.  
  
"Why, Thor? Why would you do that to your _brother_?"

 

Clint huffed from wherever he was hiding—probably under the couch— and Tony narrowed his eyes at them all, feeling oddly out of place by being the only one looking disappointed in this news.

 

"Look, I know he deserves punishment, i'm not saying otherwise. But could any of you guys do that, to your own family? I mean, Jesus... you _crushed_ his fucking hands!"  
  
Thor stood abruptly, and Tony was reminded that, yes, this was a god i'm his living room, and boy did he look mad.  
  
"You think I _desired_ this?!" his roared, and outside a new wave of rain began rolled down the windows. "I begged my father for a more lenient punishment, _begged_! But Loki had to fight, to dig the knife in further with every poisoned word he spoke. He drove the Allfather to such lengths with his treats and curses, he simply _could_ not accept any kindness we offered. I would not, I would never have..." He turned his head to the side, and the shadows did a good job at hiding what Tony knew was grief.  
  
"No, Thor, I didn't mean..." Tony began, and stood up. He felt like an asshole, well, more of one than usual. "I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"How did you mean it, then?"  
  
"I just... how did you even _do_ it?"  
  
Thor turned back again, his expression showing Tony exactly how he did it, and his time Thor didn't explain.

* * *

  
  
Now Tony had to wonder how a god, sewn and locked up with hands like cheese between slices of bread, was talking and feeding him berries. Maybe he was wrong, after all this, and it was a British gang leader with an affinity for good fiction and feeding strangers. Tony didn't know which option was worse, at this point. A real stranger, or Loki?  
  
Again, the question always came back to 'why?'

 

 _Why me, why Loki, why the visits, why the kisses?_  
  
Tony's cheeks tinted pink at the realization that he had been enjoying those affectionate gestures each time they were given, and now that he knew it was Loki...  
  
"I see Thor has come to see you."  
  
Tony snapped his head up so sharply his neck creaked. "You've got to stop doing that, unless you're doing on purpose to spook the poor blind Iron Man as some sort of pretty revenge, then, by all means, do continue. I prefer this to being thrown out the window."  
  
There was the usual amused huff from across the room, and Tony waited for the mattress to dip under his weight. When it didn't, he untucked himself from the sheets and slid off the edge of the bed.  
  
"What are you doing?" the voice asked, unusually tense.  
  
"What, afraid of a little old, blind man?" Tony quipped and lifted his hands out in front of him as he shuffled closer.  
  
"You are but a child, compared to me," came his answer, and cold hands found Tony's in midair.  
  
"Funny, coming from the guy who attacked an entire planet in some sort of temper tantrum."  
  
Loki hissed, and the fingers intertwined between his dug into Tony's hands. "You did say you preferred the _window_ , correct?"  
  
Tony grunted in pain, but continued to press on. Okay, so maybe he was a little insane, or suicidal. That wasn't all that surprising, considering his life was over anyway.  
  
"Don't waste your energy," Tony sighed, and felt Loki's breath brush again this forehead, "you could probably just break my neck right here."  
  
"Stark, you are not supposed to invite me to kill you."  
  
"Why not?" Tony asked, and realized it almost sounded like a plea.  
  
There was a pause before one of Loki's hands broke from his grasp and touched his cheek gently. It was kind, and careful, and Tony realized that if he did want to die, it had to be by these hands.  
  
"Stark... I will not kill you," Loki murmured softly. "That is not... that is not why I came."  
  
"Then, _why_? Why are you here now? Why did you come here in the first place?"  
  
"I do not know," came his answer in a sigh, and the hand against his cheek traced its way down to his jaw. Cold fingers started to play with his beard, which was already way too long for comfort in the summer heat.  
  
"I do not _know_ ," Loki repeated, and Tony felt the same breathy kiss he always did. Only this time, it was against his lips.  
  
His fingers squeezed at Loki's hand, because he always knew what came next. But it was too late, the god was pulling away, and with a soft crackle, he was gone.  
  


* * *

  
  
He didn't wait around this time, partially because he knew what Loki had at stake if he came around too often, and also because he was a little terrified to see him again.  
  
Well, feel him again.  
 _  
_ _Shit._  
  
So maybe he was waiting, because the only thing that came out of his last visit was more questions.  
  
Why? Why the fuck did Loki kiss him? A kiss on the forehead was one thing, but lips? Well, it was more like a breath against his mouth, but he could almost still feel it.  
  
Tony brushed a thumb over his lips. There was a definite chill there, all the way from three days ago. Tony wondered if there was some magic involved and if Loki actually did want to kill him, why take the long road?  
  
"Tony? Are you not feeling well?"  
  
He dropped his hand and tilted his head towards the doctor. They were on a first name basis by now, doctor Jim something. It didn't take long to get there, since all that really mattered was that Jim put up with his shit rather well, and Tony liked a challenge.  
  
"I'm fine, Doc. You need to stop sneaking me pudding though, i'm losing my figure."  
  
"Oh please, the only thing disfiguring about you right now is that thing growing on your chin," the doctor commented, and suddenly gloved hands were tiling his head up.  
  
"That bad, huh?"  
  
"You ever seen 'Cast Away'?"  
  
" _Ouch_."  
  
The hand let go and there was a rush of air as Jim moved away again. "You need a shave. Can you think of anyone you trust enough to hold a razor to your throat?"  
  
"When you put it like that, no," Tony replied with a snort. Maybe he could ask Loki to do it. Oh, there was that suicidal part of his brain talking again.  
  
"I can do it, if you want," Jim offered and Tony grimaced when their was a familiar tightness of a rubber band around his upper arm. He knew what was next, at this point. The first time they gave him a shot, no one bothered to warn him and just stabbed into his arm like he knew what was going on. Well, they've sure leaned their lesson since then.  
  
"Sure,” Tony said with a small shrug, “so far you're the only one with steady enough hands for shaping my beard back into its handsome shape."  
  
Jim openly scoffed at 'handsome shape' and tapped the inside of his elbow with his fingers. Tony automatically flexed his fist and flinched a little when the cold damp from the alcohol touched his skin. He still wasn't used to things just happening to him, to not be able to see it coming or track it with his eyes.  
  
"Alright, needle coming," his doctor warned, and Tony nodded. The prick against his skin wasn't terrible, Tony wasn't that much of a wimp. But it was much easier to keep himself from jumping when he had fair warning.  
  
It took a while to draw his blood, and Tony guessed they were running some more tests on the chemicals that entered his blood system from the accident. So far there were no resounding side effects, but they wouldn't let him leave until they were sure. It drove him nuts, but since he wasn't exactly in any condition to check for himself, he let them do their damn jobs, for once.  
  
"This is the last time we check, so you're going to have to keep us updated from home, from now on."  
  
Tony perked up instantly, not even noticing when Jim pulled he needle out. "You're releasing me? I can go? When, today?"  
  
"Easy there, not for another two days. You need to do the outpatient physical therapy run at least one day before we can let you go."  
  
Tony grumbled and held the cotton ball Jim shoved into his hand in place over his arm. "I don't need physical therapy, I need whiskey therapy."  
  
"Don't we all," Jim replied from further away. Tony heard the clink of vials being slipped into a case and the snap of his gloves coming off.  
  
"Guess we're done for now?" Tony asked, leaning back into his pillows. He had gotten a little overexcited about leaving, but hey, could you blame him? Two months was a long time to be stuck in the hospital when nothing else was wrong with him other than the obvious.  
  
"I'll be back with a razor in an hour. I have a few more patients to check on," Jim's voice came from the doorway.  
  
"And pudding," Tony demanded.  
  
"But your _lovely_ figure."  
  
"Fuck my figure, your wife makes godly pudding."  
  
There was a bark of laughter and the door closed with a snap.  
  
Was his beard that bad? All this time no one said a thing, not even Clint, and Clint was the type to make every joke in the book about something like that. Tony scowled to himself and tossed the cotton ball onto his bed. The bastard was probably sneaking pictures of it, or something.  
  
Tony ran a hand over his chin, and then remembered a certain god doing the same thing right before he kissed him.  
  
"Oh fuck, he kissed me while I looked like fucking Tom Hanks?"  
  
Tony let his hand drop, and realized he was unsettled by the wrong thing, again. Loki, bad guy, Tony good. No kissing should happen whether he had a beard or not.  
  
 _For fucks sakes, Stark, you're such a slut._  
  
He kicked his feet in irritation, and was greeted by a grunt.  
  
"Whoa, who the fuck—?!"  
  
"It's me."  
  
Tony let out a sharp breath and put a hand on his chest. "For fucks sake, Rudolf, you need to tie a bell to your horns or something."  
  
A hand brushed across his legs, causing him to jump again, and there was a strange pop.  
  
"Wait... Loki?"  
  
"I am still here," the god replied, and Tony felt a body shift over his. "You seem happy today, why?"  
  
Tony grunted as the body invaded his space, but didn't feel quite bothered enough to tell him to fuck off.  
  
"I'm being released soon," he replied with a small smile, "so, I guess no more visits from you, huh? I can't see you coming to the tower to read to me."  
  
"Ah... so you will be healed?"  
  
"Uh... no, this is kind of... permanent."  
  
Again, Loki's fingers brushed across his eyelids, and just like last time, Tony leaned into the touch. The god traced each eyelid slowly, and Tony could almost feel him thinking.  
  
"I'll have to walk with a cane, I guess. Or a dog." He paused, and his smile started to slip away. "No, not a dog, I don't want a dog. Rogers is more than enough of a puppy for one tower. Maybe I can tie a harness around him and use him to cross the road, or—"  
  
"Shh," Loki hushed him, and Tony trailed off reluctantly. Silence only made him think, and he was trying so damn hard not to think.  
  
He didn't want to walk with a cane, he didn't want a seeing-eye dog. He didn't want any assistants, or pity, or any fucking _help_.  
  
Tony bit his lip to try to keep back the frustrated sob that crawled its way up his throat. He knew Loki heard it when the god made a small sound in response, and long arms closed around him suddenly.  
  
That was too much for him. Too much because even Bruce didn't hug him, because no one hugged him. Because he didn't let anyone hug him and now someone was doing it anyway and it was too fucking _much_. The second sob was louder, unrestrained, and his fingers curled against the fabric of Loki's shirt. The god's arms tightened around him and he cried, and cried, and cried.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Do you feel better now?" Loki asked, what felt like hours later.  
  
"I feel gross and bloated, and embarrassed as fuck, so no, not really," Tony replied honesty, and wiped at his face a few more times. He had finally settled down enough to let the god go and try to pick up whatever pieces were left of his shattered dignity. It didn't seem to matter, though, because somehow Loki wasn't laughing or sneering at him. He even whipped Tony's nose with a sleeve at one point.  
  
"You're different," he said after taking a few more shuddering breaths.  
  
"As are you, Stark."  
  
"Yeah, i'm blind, but you're like an entire 180 different."  
  
Loki was silent, and Tony started to fidget with the sheets as he waited. Wrong question, again?  
  
"No," Loki muttered at last, "I am not different. I am as I were, but tired."  
  
Tony allowed him this, anyone would be tired after trying to take over an planet and then spent the next year or so with your hands pressed like paper.  
  
"Still, doesn't explain your presence here, or the fact that you allowed my mortal snot all over your shirt."  
  
Loki laughed at that, and Tony almost laughed too. Because the god sounded so... silly. He guessed that this weird giggle was Loki's real laugh, not the bag-of-cats cackle from before. It was actually kind of heart warming to hear, as ridiculous as it sounded when he matched it with his mental image of Loki.  
  
"I have no reason to explain my motives to you, and thank you for reminding me, you owe me a shirt."  
  
Tony made a face. "Can't you just magic yourself a new one?"  
  
" _No_."  
  
Tony frowned at the rawness i'm his voice and wondered, not for the first time, exactly _how_ Loki escaped from his prison.  
  
"Uh, okay then. Can I buy you one when i'm out of here?"  
  
"You speak as though you shan't be handing me over to Thor as soon as you escape this prison."  
  
"Loki, if I was going to 'hand you over' to Thor, which, by the way, is physically impossible for me right now... but if I _was_ going to, I would have done it already. You know he was here, do you see him anywhere?"  
  
Loki hummed, and cold hands pressed against his face gently. It was a nice relief from the heat all that crying stirred up. They remained silent for a while, and it didn't bother him this time. Well, until he remembered Jim and his impending shave.  
  
"Shit, Loki," he grunted, sitting up and pushing the god's hands away from his face, "you gotta go. My doctor's coming back any minute now."  
  
Loki huffed in either amusement it annoyance, and stood up from the bed. "You truly do intend to keep me a secret, you strange man."  
  
"Are you complaining?" Tony asked, and held his breath when the usual brush of a kiss graced his forehead.  
  
"Not one bit. I rather like being a secret."  
  
"I'm going to be locked away for a very long time if anyone finds out I sat here and let you feed me fucking fruit for weeks and weeks."  
  
"No, I would not let that happen."  
  
Tony arched a brow and waited for more of an explanation. He got none, and there was that crackle in the air again that told him he was alone.  
  
"Fucker," he muttered just as the door opened.  
  
"And here I brought you the pudding," Jim said is a teasing tone, "This is how you treat me?"  
  
"Not you, well _yes_ you, but not you this time."  
  
Jim laughed and tossed a spoon onto the bed.  
  
"Careful, I've got that bloody cotton ball floating around down there, don't want things to get contaminated, do we?"  
  
"Tony, disgusting. Throw stuff in the trash, it's right next to your bed."  
  
There was a shuffling of a coat being taken off, and hands brushed over his legs looking for the cotton ball.  
  
"Huh, don't see it. Maybe you threw it harder than you think."  
  
Tony frowned for a moment before shrugging it off as unimportant.  
  
"Now that you have brought me sustenance, make me beautiful."  
  
He could almost feel Jim shaking his head at him as he offered him a hand up from the bed. Tony allowed his help with a little less fuss than usual, and seated himself in the plastic chair.  
  
Jim plugged the razor in, turning it on and off before he spoke from somewhere to his left, "You seem to be more eager, got a hot date?"  
  
Tony was about to deny it, before a sly grin slowly formed across his face.  
  
"Yeah, actually, I _do_."  
  
He had shirt to buy.  
  



	3. Den Of Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony returns home, and feels homesick.

  
  
He should have known. Why? Because he should have fucking known.  
  
Apparently, not doing much more than laying around in a bed for months at a time makes it hard to walk normally again. Add a nice dose of I-can't-see, and the number of falls outnumbered the number of steps actually taken.  
  
He knew the nurses were laughing at him, especially when he swore up a storm, laying on the cold hospital floor after a rather spectacular tumble. It wasn't like he was having a fit, no crying or kicking his feet, yet they still treated him like a kid.  
  
So, he got frustrated, it wasn't like he'd ever been blind before, there's no test drive to see if you like it or not.  
  
" _Try_ it sometime," he snapped, and that was the last time they laughed.  
  
Jim was a blessing, and coming from a blazing Atheist such as himself, that was saying something. Not only did the man bring him pudding for all nine of the extra days he was forced to stay, he trimmed Tony's beard, let him have company after hours, and even stopped by to play a game of chess when he had time. As much as he hated the extra days there, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. All the same, he was glad to be out of there, and bid his blessing-doctor a rather quick goodbye.  
  
"Fresh air! Oh, how I've missed you!"  
  
"You're full of shit," Clint snorted, "you live and breathe air-conditioning. You're a canned-air man."  
  
"Trauma changes everything."  
  
"Yeah, like your weight."  
  
Clint cursed when Tony's brand new cane smacked the back of his head. Tony grinned. He was getting good at this whole blind thing, that was the third time he got the archer when he aimed to.  
  
Well, practice makes perfect. He hit him again, for science.  
  
"You keep this up and i'm signing you into the psych ward," Clint warned, his voice further away. See, you can teach a monkey new tricks. Now to get him to stop trying to feed Tony dates before Tony pulled an Indiana Jones on him.  
  
"Bad dates," he threatened, and Clint snorted from even further away.  
  
The banter was helping Tony distract himself from his other problem. His god problem. Loki did not return for the past nine days, and just like that feeling he had when Thor mused about the god's possible death, Tony had a strong feeling about it. Like maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.  
  
It was probably just paranoia, and why did he care in the first place? God of lies, the man who caused the deaths of some number of people that only Steve bothered to remember. Tony didn't remember that shit, with his kind of personality, it would drown him. Good for Steve, though, all that patriotism must keep him afloat.  
  
Tony scowled as he slipped into the seat of, what must have been, a limo, because he had to scrunch down practically to the ground. Plus, it just felt extra large inside, like a cave. Caves... no, why was he thinking about that? Fuck, he woke up with an extra side of bitter today. It just _had_ to be the day of his release, too.  
  
"Where are we going, anyway?" he asked as the car began to move.  
  
Clint hummed something, and damn he was far away. Definitely a limo. "Back to the tower, I guess. There's a sort of team meeting planned for the second you step foot through the door. Bruce baked."  
  
Tony leaned back into the leather, and didn't bother to hide his ever growing scowl.  
  
"I'll pay you good money to sneak me in by one of your millions of ninja ways I know you have in and out of the tower."  
  
"How much is 'good money'?"  
  
"A thousand dollars?"  
  
Clint huffed.  
  
Tony rolled his eyes in a familiar gesture that just felt weird to do when you didn't go on a mini world-spinning joyride every time. It was just blackness. He needed to stop rolling his eyes.  
  
"Fine, you name the price, I'll pay it. Deal is void if they catch us."  
  
"I'll make you a list," Clint began, and then amended, "I'll make you a list and read it out loud in an obnoxious, British voice."  
  
Tony tensed, Clint must have noticed, and he really didn't know why he bothered to try to hide shit from the spies in the first place. He heard the leather of the seat creak a little, and Clint's voice came from much closer, "you really don't want to see them, huh?"  
  
"No, I _don't_."  
  
Tony almost sighed in relief at the archer's misunderstanding for his discomfort. Not that Clint would have any clue why anything British would trigger anything for him, but why risk it? Then again, it wasn't as though he was seeing Loki on his own accord, the god came to him.

 

_Uh huh, but you lied about it._

_It's complicated,_ he argued.  
 _R_ _emember when you thought he was just weird?_ _Yeah, turns out he's not even human, go you._  
  
He was _not_ thinking about Loki, not at all. In fact, if he was, he was thinking about handing Loki over to Thor. Tony went on ignoring the tiny voice in his head that whispered, " _liar._ " A voice that sounded suspiciously like Loki, go figure.  
  
"Oh, did you know Thor's back?” Clint called out suddenly, “He knocked over that vase Pepper set up in the lobby, the huge Chinese one, and she came in—I swear to god— two seconds later and had a _fit_ . I've never seen a god get berated before, coulda' sold tickets," Clint huffed and added, "should have."  
  
Tony stiffened right back up again at the mention of two more people he didn't want to think about. No point in lying about seeing Thor, the god was never anything but honest, and Clint knew Pepper was a sore subject. It wasn't like the archer was Mr. Sensitive, there were no difficult subjects for him, as long as the man was talking about someone else. The bastard.  
  
Tony cleared his throat and admitted,"Uh... yeah, I did know, actually. He came to say hi and break a perfectly good chair."  
  
"He's always breaking things. I'd like to know what they make his shit out of in Asgard, because apparently 'Midgard has weak furnishings'."  
  
"His shit is probably pure gold," Tony replied dryly and Clint hooted with laughter. It was too loud, and sharp, and the archer was clearly a little on edge. Tony wondered if it was him causing it, or something else. Maybe Natasha had him i'm the dog house. She had seemed tense last time she visited, then again, she was always tense.  
  
  
  
As per their 'ninja' agreement, the limo stopped a block away, and they walked the rest of the way. Clint didn't help him with navigation or bother to alert him if he was about to run into poles, or carts, or other people. Half of him was thankful for that, the other half just wanted to walk five feet without gaining another bruise.  
  
By the time they made it indoors, Tony was sure he was limping, and also secretly agreed with Clint: he did live for air-conditioning.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Service entrance," Clint replied in a whisper, as if the entire team could hear them twenty-something floors down. "not as 'ninja' as I would like, but you can't exactly crawl through the vents like that."  
  
Tony paused, his grip tightening on the long, white and red cane. He was home, or one of his homes, and it felt completely strange to him.  
  
"JARVIS?" He called out softly.  
  
"Welcome home, sir. I am glad to see you in one piece."  
  
"I am the picture of wholesome health," he quipped and jumped when Clint's hands fastened themselves around his arm and pulled him away. "Fuck you, i'm talking here."  
  
"Fuck _you_ , I want my money so go lock yourself in a room already."  
  
"Bad dates."  
  
"You're the one who eats them," Clint reminded, pulling him closer and stopping suddenly.  
  
"I never ate a single—" Tony stumbled when the room moved, and reminded himself that yes, he lived in the 21st century, and that rooms which move are called _elevators_ . "I never ate a single date."  
  
"Then where did they all go?" Clint asked from his right.  
  
Tony shrugged, he couldn't be bothered to remember where the disgusting things went. Did he throw them out, or did someone else eat them? The little voice in the back of his head woke up again and whispered, " _Loki_ ".  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
Clint's shifted and Tony could feel his eyes on him, "Fuck what?"  
  
"Did I say that out loud? If I didn't, and you're a mind reader, read this," he said, picturing him holding Clint down and shoving dates in places they should not go.  
  
"You're fucking mental, I know I should have signed you back in."  
  
"Nah," Tony denied lazily, "I've got my own padded cell right here."  
  
The door opened with a bell sound that sounded like it was tolling from hell, and Tony wondered who decided _that_ suited the elevator. Surely he didn't design that in the building's plans? Okay, so Pepper talked him down from having AC/DC blare out when you arrived, but he sure as hell didn't instal that hell-bell.  
  
"Where is this elevator, anyway?" He asked, stepping out tentatively.  
  
"We're in the back hall that leads to the regular elevator," Clint replied as he passed him, adding a less certain, "I think."  
  
Tony followed blindly, (ha ha ha—no) and almost sighed when he felt the space open up. He stumbled right away on a low seated chair, and decided to sit before he added to his collection of bruises. He had done enough tango dancing today.  
  
"Alright, i'm here, they're there, you get your money."  
  
"Aww money, yes!"  
  
"Selfish bastard,"Tony said, almost fondly, and dug around in his pocket for his wallet. Flipping it open, he automatically reached for the card section and froze. _Oh_ , right, how the hell was he supposed to know which cards were which?  
  
"Clint, tell me what your elf eyes see, is this gold?"  
  
"Fuck you, and no."  
  
"This one?"  
  
"Nnnooope, it's silver though, close enough."  
  
Tony flicked the card towards his voice, heard the tell-a-tail squawk, and made another check for himself.  
  
5-0, he was in the lead.  
  
"Take that, spend money, bring it back when you're done," he instructed, and tucked his wallet away.  
  
Clint heaved a weary sigh. "Yes, dad, whatever you say dad, i'm going to spend it all, _dad_ ."  
  
"Good, now clear out so I can enjoy my padded room to myself."  
  
There was a pause before Clint shuffled out that sounded suspiciously like someone flipping the bird. He found himself grinning and gave the man the one finger salute before he heard a laugh down the hall.  
  
"You scare me sometimes!" Clint called back, and there was the hell-bell sound, and then nothing.  
  
Tony turned his head, as if miming 'looking around' would make the room suddenly appear. Everything felt alien, and not the fun feed-you-and-read-to-you kind. It felt wrong, and all his hopes of home, of some shred of normalcy, took a swan dive out the window.  
  
"Welcome home," he said to the empty room, and wished he was anywhere else but here.  


* * *

  
  
"Tony!"  
  
"Tony, come on, this is childish."  
  
Tony laughed and didn't move from where he had curled up the night before, which, funnily enough, was in the same chair he first sat down in.  
  
"Tony, come on, let us in," Steve begged, and begging sounded worse on him than hero speeches.  
  
"No," he replied calmly, tucking his face behind his folded up knees. Jarvis had turned on the face-to-face camera at the door, useless for him, but great for letting his team mates peer at him through their own screen.  
  
"You're going to have to come out of there at some point," Bruce reminded him from behind the door. "So come on, I made pancakes."  
  
Tony tipped his head up, giving them a smirk. "So the honorable Dr. Banner is not above bribery, I see."  
  
"Nope, i'm not," Bruce admitted, "and they're chocolate chip."  
  
"Mmm, good bribe."  
  
"So, come on?"  
  
"No."  
  
There was a frustrated shake of the door handle, and Tony grinned behind his knees. Maybe he could get Bruce to Hulk out, that would be fun.  
  
 _No_ , he reminded himself, it probably wouldn't and Bruce would feel miserable and apologize for a month.  
  
Tony sighed, "just go away, i'm learning the room again."  
  
"You're sitting in a chair, Stark," came Natasha's voice, and when did the whole gang arrive?  
  
"Sitting, learning, I can multitask."  
  
"How did he even get inside?" Steve was asking, and the thought-filled pause was comedy gold.  
  
"Clint!"  
  
"You'll never catch me alive!" The archer screeched, and there was the sound of feet trampling down the stairs. Tony threw his head back and cackled.  
  
"He's lost it," someone muttered from behind the door again, and Tony just beamed.  
  
"Well, if you get hungry for something other than scotch, you know where the pancakes are."  
  
Tony waved cheerfully at the door, or where he thought the door was, and went back to 'learning the room', which was basically just him sitting there trying not to have a god damn panic attack.  
  
This was his home, the place he had lived in for over a year, the penthouse he had rebuilt after Loki destroyed half of it. Oh yeah, that reminded him, he should bill the god for repairs.

 

Tony frowned to himself and tucked his knees a little closer to his chest. He didn't miss the god, that was ridiculous. He probably just missed not having to feed himself, oh, and books. He refused to let anyone teach him brail, for pride reasons. But those cool hands on his face, that touch that made him relax in ways he didn't think was possible anymore. He missed that, he missed feeling like he was, well, home.  
  
Tony tightened his arms around his knees and thought, _shit, I have problems_.

 

He then vaguely wondered if he called the god's name three times in front of a mirror, if he would show up to kill Tony. He didn't have a mirror, but it was worth a try.  
  
' _Suicidal_ ,' whispered that voice again, and Tony said the name out loud.  
  
Of course, there was nothing. He should have known. Why? Because he—  
  
"You called me."  
  
Tony jerked his head up, looking towards where the cool—was that stunned?—British-sounding voice came from.  
  
"I did," he admitted softly, "you came."  
  
"You _called_ me," the voice repeated, much closer, and Tony reached out to find the god's chest right in front of him. He must have been kneeling, because Tony was practically on the floor in this chair. Huh, so he _could_ get the god to kneel to him, file that away for a rubbing-in-face moment later.  
  
"Welcome to the proverbial 'den of lions'," he joked, sliding his hand up to find a sharp cheekbone. Tony ran his thumb along it to an ear, and he broke out in a grin when he wiggle said ear and got a hiss of annoyance.  
  
"Just because you cannot see, does not give you an excuse to paw at my face," Loki stated firmly, and because Tony was himself, he absolutely _had_ an excuse and started sliding his other hand up Loki's right cheek.  
  
"Just making sure it's really you, you know, for security reasons."  
  
One hand traced the god's jaw, tickled his chin, and then moved down the long tendons of his neck. He felt Loki tense, and laughed, "what do you think i'm going to do? You could swat me across the room like a bug."  
  
"Do not tempt me, then," Loki replied, his voice reverberating through the skin under Tony's fingers. His other hand came up, tracing Loki's high hairline with a wicked grin, and then slid down his nose with a playful 'bop!' at the end. Loki was tensing up again, shifting like a cat ready to bolt, and just out of spite, Tony ran a thumb over the lips he had been kissed with so many times. His grin fell away instantly, heat pricking his skin as he trace the lower lip a second time and whoa, okay, touching lips changed the mood quickly.  
  
Tony tried to say something, anything—what the hell _was_ this atmosphere?  
  
"Uh, I... You—" he choked, because Loki was a little shit, too, and something wet and hot brushed against Tony's finger. The thing was, he couldn't just remove it now, no, now he had to know about said thing brushing across the pad of his finger. For science.  
  
The little voice chimed in, " _liar_ ", and he was really too distracted to care.  
  
He leaned forward, his thumb now pulling Loki's lip open, and just before Tony's lips brushed his, he muttered,"I'm completely fucking _insane_ ," and swore he heard a, "me as well," before they kissed.  
  
It was nothing like the other kisses, those butterfly-wing brushes against his forehead, or even the slow, chaise kiss before Loki disappeared. No, this was a kiss Tony knew how to handle, all tongue and teeth and those little breaks for air you needed before you dove back in, and god, he was _drowning_.  
  
Loki hummed, pulling his body into a firm grip, and chilly fingers began to creep up the back of his shirt.  
  
Fuck, Tony was drowning.  
  
He pulled away suddenly, pushing back just enough to put a gap between them, but not enough to escape those arms. He could sense Loki going rigid again, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or was it the first shoe? Had they dropped a shoe already?  
  
Tony shook his head and rasped, "what are you doing here?"  
  
"I believe I am kissing you, unless you Midgardans have another name for it," Loki huffed.  
  
"Yeah, I mean no, but _why_?"  
  
And wasn't that a loaded question. Why was Loki kissing him, why was _he_ kissing him back? Was that all it took, a few weeks of unprecedented pampering, and hey, let's kiss the enemy? Also, why did he feel so fucking wired suddenly?  
  
"There are... reasons," Loki ground out, pushing Tony the final few steps and disappearing from the inventor's hands. Tony's senses screamed, and he instantly reached out for him, his fingers curling in the rough fabric of Loki's shirt.  
  
"Don't leave," he ordered softly, and okay, begging didn't sound so great on him either.  
  
"I wasn't, I simply... I... I should leave."  
  
The way his voice cut out, faltered, told Tony he was unsure. Unsure if he should stay, or leave, or throw Tony out the window, maybe. But for the god who Tony labeled as a 'smooth criminal' to sound so lost, made something in his chest flip-flop unpleasantly.  
  
"Stay," Tony ordered more firmly, this time, "we don't have to talk about it, I don't even like talking, I mean I do, but not _talking_ talking. I like talking about other stuff, we could just talk about the weather, no kissing, or maybe kissing, talking, or we could..." He trailed off, realizing he just said 'talk' and all forms whereof seven times. "Just... _stay_."  
  
Loki pulled against his fingers, and Tony remembered the cat image he got from before. He was going to bolt, Tony's super-smooth words had failed to convince him. Genius, they said, very smart, they said.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
"Loki..." He began again.  
  
"Stark, I _must_ go," Loki interrupted, pulling free at last. "I have things I must attend to."  
  
Tony's hand hovered in the air where he lost the connection to the god. The room came rushing back in around him, too wide, too unfamiliar, and he was drowning again.  
  
"Loki, can you plea—" his words cut off at the familiar sound of the god disappearing.  
  
Snap, crackle, pop, you're alone again.  
  
' _Just like you wanted_ ,' the little nasty voice reminded, and Tony mentally flipped it off. His hand went out to find the chair, but at some point he and Loki had shifted far enough away that he couldn't find it anymore.  
  
Frowning, Tony tried to move to his left, one knee met a coffee table, and he was sent sprawling. He wasn't fast enough, because he couldn't track it with his eyes, or just because he wasn't fucking _fast_ enough, and his head met the coffee table too. There was a flicker, just for a second, of lights and colors, before he hit the floor and it was nothing but darkness again. Not the painless darkness that he wanted, no, just the same old dark he had been living in for months. Same old nothing, with lots of pain, and as he lay there, he felt the warm trickle of blood start to creep down his forehead. He laughed sharply, and it quickly turned into a choked sob.  
  
" _You wanted to be alone_ ," the voice said again, and the room was too big, too alien, and he was drowning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are reasons for things like kisses and coming when he's called. Reasons Loki isn't too pleased about. Urhurhurhur.


	4. Help, I'm Alive

 

Someone was touching him, and Tony opened his eyes. It still remained a 'someone', because oh yeah, blind.

"I don't have anything valuable on me," he gurgled, and frowned at the weirdness of his voice.

 

"Is that your conditioned response to waking up, because if it is, I pity you."

 

Tony grunted, "Bruce, how'd you get in here? And yeah, it is when I wake up to a nice, mysterious fondling."

 

"I still pity you."

 

"Have fun with that," Tony snarked, and sat up. The world decided to throw him off her back and if it weren't for said fondling hands, he would have been right back on the floor. At least, he had a feeling he was still on the floor, and yep, there was the coffee table to his left. Tony kicked a foot at it, regretted it immediately, and flipped it off like the mature adult that he was.

 

Bruce was touching him again, and asking, "what happened?"

 

Tony snorted and batted away his probing fingers. "It's no great mystery, is it? I mean, _hello_ ," he groused, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

 

Bruce jabbed at his head again, much harder than before, and Tony knew he had pushed a few buttons there. Maybe he could get him to Hulk out.

 

His inner scientist _really_ needed to stop thinking that.

 

"Tony, I know you're still mad at me—"

 

"I'm not."

 

"—and i'm sorry for leaving you there. I just... I thought I might hurt people."

 

"I know," Tony replied, no longer squirming away. "I _get_ it, I got it when you told me, too. I was just pitching a fit like the old man-child that I am."

 

Bruce huffed, and Tony hoped it was an amused sound, not an aggravated one. For a while after that, the man worked in silence, cleaning Tony's face with something that smelled like alcohol and sticking a bandage over his cut. Tony poked at it as soon as Bruce pulled his hands away.

 

"Hmm, you feel oddly cold to the touch," Bruce pondered, "how are you feeling? Hot? Dizzy? Do you have chills?"

 

With a dramatic sigh, Tony lolled his head back, answering in a monotone, "normal body temperature, no chills, sir, shall I walk in a straight line, _sir_? Oh wait, I'll probably run into another table."

 

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted, "Your body temperature is at a dangerously low 95.6."

 

Tony tried to glare at the ceiling in the split second before the predicted freak-out came.

 

"What?!" Bruce shouted, hands instantly going for Tony's face, and he remembered how nice Jim was to always warn him before he touched him. "I _thought_ you felt cold, Tony, you must be really sick!"

 

"I feel fine, Bruce, it's just a little low and—"

 

"This is not just a little low! Low body temperature—"

 

"—I don't even _feel_ cold or—"

 

"—A sign of low metabolism which is something you've never had a problem with before," Bruce continued right over him, "Tony, you have to go back in. They still don't know what ended up in your blood stream, hell _I_ don't even know what chemicals you were using, you won't tell me."

 

Tony snapped his mouth shut and turned his head away. It's not that he didn't _want_ to tell him, he did like to brag and Bruce could always improve upon his chemical warfare any day, but he wasn't allowed to tell him. He was bound by law, and SHIELD not to tell anyone what he was working on.

 

And now what, though, what was he supposed to do when something was obviously wrong with him and no one was allowed to know what he did? What changed since he left the hospital, other than smacking his head?

 

That voice piped up, ' _Loki._..' and Tony swore internally. He licked at his lips as if he could still taste the god on them.

 

"I can't tell you, Bruce," he explained lamely, "you _know_ why."

 

"Fuck SHIELD, I can't help you if I don't know what's hurting you!"

 

Tony couldn't help it, he snorted. Bruce had a long standing love/hate relationship with SHIELD, and Tony loved it when it leaned more towards hate and the curses came out. Whoever thought Bruce was the delicate flower out of the two of his personalities, was stupid or blind. Well, not blind.

 

Bruce huffed again, and this time Tony could tell he was annoyed. "Don't laugh, i'm being serious."

 

With a hand up in defeat, Tony pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. He hadn't failed to notice his knew way of sitting, and how polar-opposite it was to how he used to sit, wide open, lounging, relaxed.

 

 _Shut up_ , he told himself, _the world doesn't need you psychoanalyzing yourself_.

 

"Bruce," he said at last, "I can't tell you, no matter _how_ serious you are. I'm in enough shit with them as it is, and they took all my work after it blew up in my face. Even if I _could_ explain it, we literally have no samples to compare or test with. More importantly, i'm fine."

 

"Tony..."

 

"I'm _fine_ ," he repeated more firmly.

 

"No, you're _not_ ," Bruce denied softy, and Tony was being touched again. He never got a warning, but at least this time it was a nice touch. Just a hand across his shoulders, enough to sooth some of the crazy stress levels in his muscles. "Tony, you should head back to the hospital."

 

Tony shook his head sharply, and tucked his face down further behind his knees. "No. No way. I just got home, i'm going to stay here, eat pancakes, and then go back to avoiding everyone."

 

"You only want me for my pancakes."

 

"I use you for your baking skills," Tony joked and grinned behind his knees.

 

"You're a shit. Why should I feed you, you shit?"

 

Tony directed his blank gaze at him and full-on pouted as he replied, "because I am a poor little blind boy who hasn't eaten in two days and you are a big, green softy who makes the best pancakes in the world and who loves me soooooo—"

 

"Oh god, stop," Bruce begged, pushing Tony away with a playful shove. "Stop making that face, my glasses are cracking."

 

"Rude."

 

"You started it."

 

"What is this, the third grade? If I lick it, is it mine?"

 

Bruce laughed at last, and Tony could almost hear him shaking his head. "Says the one who's pouting about pancakes. Come on," Bruce grunted, the shuffling of clothing and the new angle of his hand proving that he has stood up.

 

Tony reached out hesitantly, but allowed himself to be hauled up,off the floor. "I don't 'spose I get pancakes and still get to avoid those guys."

 

"Nope."

 

Tony sighed, and allowed Bruce to lead him through the maze of furniture. "I knew, deep down, that you hated me."

 

"Not that deep," Bruce joked, and Tony heard the pleasant ding of the regular elevator. He really needed to fix that other one, just thinking about it made him feel like the devil was lurking somewhere down that hallway.

 

"Why are we friends again?" He asked sarcastically, leaning against the back wall for support.

 

"Pancakes."

 

"Science."

 

"That too," Bruce acknowledged.

 

Tony grumbled,"I'm going to hate you for a little bit, for this."

 

"I'll live."

 

Tony smiled bitterly, and flinched when the pleasant ding alerted him of their arrival to hell.

 

_I might not._

 

* * *

 

Hands shaking, lips set in a thin line, Loki tried his spell a second time.  
  
The first spell had moved in the wrong direction, taking away more than what the universe could give back, and for a sickening moment Loki thought he had killed the mortal. That would have been disastrous, for _both_ of them.  
  
"You _must_ work, I have the blood of both in the contract!" He hissed at the bowl in front of him, as if by his feeble command, the rune magic would simply bend to his will. His wrist was left bleeding from the first attempt, and he squeezed more from his veins into the bowl. He was becoming desperate, he knew, but he was out of time. Thor had come, and with him would be more Asgardian 'justice'.  
  
 _No._  
  
No more pain, not like that. It was not the broken bones that he dreaded, nor the sting of spelled metal against his crushed flesh. Not even his sewn lips, that had begun to rot and fester were as painful. No, none of his wounds hurt him as much as the splitting of his soul, his being, his magic. What they took away from him, was much more of himself than they could ever understand, and in his desperation to escape, he made a _mistake_.  
  
But now he was faced with a similar desperation. He would not return there, and especially not thanks to his foolish misstep with the contract. He would amend that as soon as he could, and rid himself of this appalling need to be near the mortal.  
  
Loki licked his lips and carefully lay the cotton ball in the small bowl, setting it afloat in the pool of his own blood. The runes shimmered gold, his blood began boiling inside of him and out, and the cotton ball burned into nothing in a sudden flash of red fire.  
  
"NO!" Loki screamed, his fingers clutching at the last of the burnt fibers in bowl. He stared down hopelessly, desperately recalculating and planning until something deep inside of him snapped. With a howl of rage, he sent the bowl smashing into the kitchen cupboards. The table, upturned with such force, it too was sent flying across the room. His blood spilled across the ugly, white tiling, ash and wax joining as it spread.  
  
He was panting from his sudden outburst, and Loki clutched at his bleeding wrist, trying to stop the flow.  
  
"I need more..." Loki muttered deliriously, "I must get _more_ from him..."  
  
A small voice whispered in his mind, ' _you will kill him._ '  
  
Loki sneered, "I care not!"  
  
' _Liar._ '  
  
Loki turned away from the mess in his small kitchen, limping into the second of the three rooms that made up his new accommodations. It was small, dingy, and not somewhere he would call a home. But it served its purpose for what he hoped would be a short stay on Midgard. He curled up on the sunken couch that was his only other piece of furniture other than the table. The one he had just undoubtedly ruined. He had no need for a bed, because the second he fell asleep, the nightmares began.  
  
He did not need sleep, he did not need comfort, he did not need that foolish mortal who was so warm and who smiled at him as though...

 

 _He does not know me for what I really am._  
  
Loki pulled his knees to his chest, an old habit he had taken up as the years grew colder and crueler.  
  
"I do _not_ care," he said to the empty room, "what affections I show are merely the product of the contract and nothing more. I have no need for such a weak, _broken_ creature."  
  
' _Liar_ ,' the voice whispered again, and Loki would not argue with it any longer, for fear of being wrong.

 

He sat in silence, because he did not _need_ sleep, and watched his only shirt redden with his blood.  
  


* * *

  
  
Twenty miles away, Tony shivered.  
  
 _Someone just walked over my grave. Did people still say that, or think that, in my case. Besides, I don't have a grave, so how does that phrase work, did zombies come up with this and somehow both the phrase and the walking dead are now integrated into society?_  
  
Tony shoved another bite of pancake into his mouth, a large dribble of syrup heading down his chin. Someone was talking loudly, not yelling, because America used the authoritative loud voice. America did _not_ yell.  
  
Damn, he acknowledged that he knew who was speaking. It was much harder to pretend they didn't exist when one did that.  
  
"Tony, can you _please_ explain to me why you felt the need to sneak in here and—"  
  
 _So if there are zombies in our society, do they have their own, private economy? A closed system, maybe, that—_  
  
"— and secondly, don't bribe other team members with money to get them to do things, that's just—"  
  
"Bruce is bribing me with pancakes," he interrupted, and winced. Fuck it all, he had been doing _so_ well in the ignoring game.  
  
"Tony," Bruce warned from across the table. "That's not the same and you know it."  
  
"I don't hear Clint complaining," Tony pointed out, and gave up on eating because he kept missing his mouth for some reason, and pancakes were much stickier than strawberries. "Actually, I haven't heard Clint at all, did you kill him? I want my card back."  
  
Clint's voice joined in from somewhere across the room, "I'm just being quiet because if I open my mouth some of Steve's hot air will get in."  
  
Tony barked out a laugh, and could almost feel the disapproving glare he earned from the soldier.  
  
Tony said, "I'm not hurting anyone—"  
  
"Except yourself," Steve reminded dryly.  
  
"— _and_ I don't see why that's the thing you have an issue with. We all know what the big, blind, elephant in the room is."  
  
Well that shut them up, all however many of them were there at the moment. He could never rely on his hearing to know if Natasha was around, unless he tried echo location, maybe. Maybe he could become Batman, or the Manbat, wait, wasn't the Manbat a villain? Well, he wasn't much hero material in the first place, but 'sleeping with the enemy' was probably one step further away from heroism. Tony chuckled to himself, then remembered he had people probably looking at him with a nice little array of 'what the fuck is wrong with him?' expressions.  
  
"Okay, so I might have forgotten how to talk to people," he admitted quietly, pushing away from the table and leaning back in his chair. "The main point is, other than how fantastic your pancakes are, Brucey baby, is that i'm not a part of the team anymore. Now personally, I would say that means I don't need to come to anymore team meetings and listen to Steve berate me for whatever he berates me for these days—I stopped listening a year ago—but according to you guys, I still _have_ to come. What, exactly, am I bringing to the table these days? I mean, other than some extremity of mine smashing into it."  
  
There was a shuffling of feet, and Tony's fake smile almost slipped. Nervous shifting? That meant pity, and pity meant they had come up with some cute little title for him to still 'be a part of the team'.  
  
"You would be staying on as a Strategical Consultant," Steve answered, and yep, there it was.  
  
Tony leaned forward, his useless eyes narrowing almost as thin as his patience. "Strategical... Consultant..."  
  
"Yes, you would be in our ear while we work, our home base, you—"  
  
"So, I'll be Batgirl after her fucking spine is broken."  
  
Steve falter and asked, confusion lacing his voice, "What? What are you even _talking_ about?"  
  
"I know what _i'm_ talking about, do you?" He asked nastily, hoping his glare was directed at Steve. "I'm talking about the 'useful' position crafted around the cripple to make them feel like they _belong_. To make me feel like i'm doing good, and still a team player."  
  
"Tony," Bruce warned again, and this time Tony heard it, the pity in his voice.  
  
 _No Bruce, Et tu, Brutus?_  
  
Tony continued on, his irritation growing with every turn, "I hate to fucking break it to you all, actually I don't, I'm not a team player, I never was, and I don't fucking care about your little pity job. I _quit_."  
  
Clint whistled, low and impressed, and he knew it was Clint because no one else did that. He felt Bruce tensing up from across from him, and Tony wondered how he had never _felt_ that before. It was like the barometric pressure building up before a thunder storm. Speaking of thunder storms, where was the resident rain-maker? Out looking for Loki, probably. Good, he didn't want to lie to his face right now, he was feeling vulnerable enough, surrounded by the angry, do-gooders.  
  
"Stark," Steve began again.  
  
' _Oh no, the last name came out!'_ Tony's inner voice cried sarcastically.  
  
"You can't just give up because it's hard. You can _fight_ this, and you can continue to utilize your skills as a strategist and a brilliant inventor."  
  
"Whoa there, easy on the compliments, National Anthem," Tony said, throwing his hands up, "i'm not buttered up that easily, and also, fight _what_ , exactly? My dead eyes? Not much of a fight, sort of one sided. I don't have much foresight in battle, and I always get tunnel vision when I spot the enemy. Get it? I'm _hilarious_ , and i'm going to go now. Bruce, be my human walking stick."  
  
Steve was making a sputtering sound over Clint's laughter, and somewhere a chair pulled out. He hoped it was Bruce, and not Natasha with a needle for the back of his neck and the promise of SHIELD-style healing. No, the big hand on his shoulder was just radiating warm fuzzy feelings, that or radiation. Tony tipped his invisible hat to the crowd and followed Bruce out of the room amidst stuttering complaints from Steve.  
  
Bruce didn't say anything until the elevator, and when he did, he sounded tired. "He's just trying to help, you know. In his own way."  
  
"I know," Tony replied, "and I don't want it."  
  
"Do you want _any_ help?"  
  
Tony didn't answer, and the small, bastard of a voice in the back of his head said, " _yes, just not from_ you."  
  
Tony hadn't thought of Loki the entire time, sans his moment of Thor panic, and he almost felt better as his mind wandered back to the confusing mess that had recently invaded his life. Bruce was saying something as he helped Tony to the couch, something about, 'if you need me, yadda yadda.” Tony waved him off with some automatic response, and literally felt the air pulsate around the man.  
  
He _really_ needed to look into that, because, how fascinating.  
  
The elevator came and went, leaving him to his own pity party. It was funny how he allowed himself to steep in it when it was all him, but god forbid if others joined in. Actually, it wasn't funny at _all_ , he didn't like pitying himself, and he hated others doing it all the more.  
  
The thing was, what was he going to do? He turned down their token job slot for... what, exactly? It wasn't like he had a prior engagement. In fact, he really hadn't thought of what he was going to do outside of the hospital at all. Hell, he had never really thought of being anything but Iron Man, it was always supposed to be just... _forever_.  
  
Tony swallowed the sickly sweet taste from his mouth. The pancakes felt pretty unhappy in his stomach right now, whether it was stress or simply because he had been living off of pudding and berries for a few months, he didn't know. He reminded himself that he had no way of finding the bathroom and would have to live with the smell of pancake vomit if he didn't, so he forced himself to calm down and just breathe.  
  
Yeah, like that was ever easy.  
  
He felt it coming, stronger than ever before, and he had no way to fight it off. No, he couldn't 'fight this _thing_ ', he didn't even have a repulser. Not that he could fire on a panic attack, anyway.  
  
His heart fluttered, and away went the breathing. He choked, curling in on himself as though he could protect his body from it.  
  
 _Protect your head, always protect your head._  
  
Who told him that the first time? Was it Howard? No... someone...  
  
Someone was touching him, and Tony couldn't open his eyes, and it didn't matter if he did anyway.  
  
"Stark..."  
  
"I don't have anything valuable on me," he choked, half joking, half not.  
  
"Yes," Loki answered, "yes, you _do_."  
  
There was a strange pop again, and Tony flinched, feeling as though someone flicked him in the forehead.  
  
"Loki?" He managed, fingers curling into his chest as he struggled to calm down. Cool fingers brushed across his brow, and a hand pressed over his, adding pressure to his chest.  
  
"Shhh... you are well, you are safe," the voice whispered in his ear, and Tony would have almost believed it, if it wasn't coming from the guy who nearly killed him. Then again...  
  
"Did you... did you know..." He paused to take a deeper breath, and it was surprisingly easy, suddenly. "Did you know your brother almost killed me once? H-hit me full on with lightning, very flashy."  
  
"He is no brother of mine, but no, I did not know you were close to death at the time. I was rather distracted by the light show, myself."  
  
"Not... brother? Oh yeah, the whole... adopted thing."  
  
" _No_ ," came Loki's answer, and his voice sounded oddly pinched, "no, _that_ was something I could look past, given time."  
  
Tony took a few more deep breaths and sat up, directing his attention fully to the body next to his. Loki was tense, just like the last three times Tony poked at his personal life, or questioned his motives. He frowned, thought about it, and made the connection.  
  
"Your lips..."  
  
"He told you?"  
  
"Sort of, I kind of figured it out from what little he did say," Tony replied carefully. "They're... um, not sewn up anymore."  
  
"An adept observation, Stark."  
  
"I try," he quipped back, and leaned into the god's touch unconsciously. "I just, I heard it was impossible for you to use magic, therefor get out, so i'm kind of wondering how you're here?"  
  
"I used magic, and got out," Loki replied flatly. There was a warning in his tome, but Tony liked to live dangerously.  
  
' _Suicidal_ ', came the voice.  
  
 _Shut up._  
  
"For what it's worth, i'm glad you escaped."  
  
Surprised silence greeted this statement, and Tony nearly chuckled at the mental picture of Loki in his head, eyebrows raised incredulously, maybe a half smirk in there too.  
  
"Do not let your teammates hear you say this, they may think you were glad for this 'war criminal' to be free."  
  
"Firstly, they're not my teammates anymore because I quit, secondly, you were being fucking tortured, they crushed your _hands_ , and I don't care who you are, no one deserves that." He furrowed his brow and added. "Well, I can think of a _few_ people, but that's beside the point."  
  
"So you are no longer the 'plucky hero'?" Loki asked humorously, making a point of avoiding the entire second half of Tony's response.  
  
"Darling, I've never been plucky a day in my life, and the hero bit can be disputed, as well."  
  
Loki laughed, that weird giggle that had almost sent Tony out of his hospital bed in surprise when he first heard it. The cool hand left his brow, and a second later a kiss brushed his skin in its place.  
  
"Well then," Loki whispered against his forehead, "welcome to the proverbial Den of Lions."  
  
  



	5. Magnetism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is just radiating joy and wonder, and Loki's magnetism is at full power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad puns are bad.

  
  
When Tony woke up the next morning, he was alone in his bed and if it were any other day, that would have been completely normal. Only, he clearly remembered a certain god tucking him in and stretching out on top of his blankets beside him. He also remembered a hand running through his hair and across his cheeks and suddenly, Tony frowned.  
  
There was something... off. Just for a moment, Tony remembered the feeling of those skinny fingers wrapping around his throat and adding more and more pressure until— _no_ , that was impossible. How could he only half remember something as traumatic as being strangled? It must have been a dream, which was perfectly understandable, considering who he had fallen into bed with last night.  
  
Well, not _that_ kind of falling into bed, more , the literal sort of collapsing bonelessly into it with a pleased groan. The previous night spent in the chair had been bad for his back, and worse for his chest. Actually, it sucked over all.  
  
Even now, a day and a night later, he was wheezing and aching all the way through to his chest cavity. Any kind of constricting posture pressed the reactor into his organs, what was left of his rib cage, and sometimes—usually after a good hit to the chest— he could feel it in his spine. Today, luckily, it was mostly limited to his lungs, so he tried to remedy it by stretching out flat on his back and spreading his arms out.  
  
That caused him to let out a few wet coughs, which was probably not a good sign, but fuck it, he was _not_ going back to the hospital. Apparently, the stretching wasn't going to work out today, and sadly, Tony didn't really have a lot of other options right now. Standing came with all sorts of bad karma, including but not limited to crushing his lungs more with the sheer beauty of his arc reactor meeting gravity, the loss of some of his toes as he tried to blindly find his way from room to room, and whatever final dregs of his dignity turning to ash as he is forced to call for someone to help him off the floor or out of the tub or from within the refrigerator.  
  
Tony's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since pancakes and pancakes were forever ago. Right, refrigerator. Where was that god when you needed him?  
A weird flutter behind his reactor made him stop breathing as the memory of strawberries made him crave something more than just food.  
  
What was wrong with him? Seriously, very deadly seriously, what was _wrong_ with him? Loki killed people, not just humans, according to Thor, and meant he was generally what one would find under the definition of a mass murderer, sans the whole alien thing, probably. Tony didn't miss the irony of calling someone else a mass murderer, and not for the first time did he think that they might have something in common.  
  
 _It's a morbid hobby to share._  
  
Tony decided that pain might be a welcome distraction to the utter agony of that train of thought, and sat up, one hand already lifting to his reactor as the weight shifted. He groaned without restraint, and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. The hand not trying to hold his chest together flailed around hopelessly for his walking stick, and when none was found, he realized he must have left it in the living room.  
  
It figured, you trust the god of lies as your seeing eye dog, you get trapped in your room with no way out but 'ow'. Tony bit his lower lip, sucked in a nice, deep breath, and slowly worked his way out of his bedroom.  
  
By the time he made it to the kitchen—cold marble countertops, meet hips—he officially hated the game of Operation, since that was what his life boiled down to these days.  
  
 _There's a table in the hall._  
  
BZZT!  
  
 _Corner of the wall._  
  
BZZT!  
  
 _I don't even know what this is but it hurts._  
  
BZZT!  
  
 _Maybe I should program JARVIS to make the noise when I hit something because I'm hilarious. Actually..._ _  
_  
"JARVIS?"  
  
"Good morning sir, or rather, afternoon."  
  
"You know me, early riser," Tony joked and leaned gingerly against the counter. "Can you make a sound when i'm about to smash into something. Make it noticeable, but not annoying. I want to be warned, not driven insane."  
  
A soft 'ping' filled the air in example and Tony nodded, pleased with the sound. It reminded him of the service elevator and the aptly named 'Hell-Bell' and how, maybe, he should get that changed. But that meant having workers in the penthouse, and that was a big 'no' right now. Besides, he had more pressing matters to deal with, and no one used the damn thing anyway, so why keep thinking about it?  
  
He frowned, and called out again, "Hey, where'd Loki go?"  
  
"He left the building about 8 hours ago, sir."  
  
"So how long did he actually stay once I was out?"  
  
There was only a slight pause when JARVIS answered, "3 hours and 27 minutes."  
  
"What?!" Tony squawked, before running a hand over his face. Tony had to remind himself not to ask for JARVIS to 'show' him the video, and instead demanded, "Tell me what did the entire time."  
  
"He appears to have been studying you, and also petting you, which is not as intrusive as kissing, I suppose."  
  
"I love hearing the distaste in your beautiful British voice."  
  
"If you enjoy it, I suggest you continue to stick your tongue down the enemy's throat."  
  
Tony laughed and shook his head with his reply, "you sure know how to encourage a man, but no, I probably _shouldn't_ be doing that."  
  
He paused and ran a hand along the counter. "Although..." He said slowly, picking at the edge of the stone like a nervous child, "There's something about it..."  
  
JARVIS stated in a heavily sarcastic tone, "I believe he is known for his 'Silver Tongue', if that is what you are referring to, sir."  
  
Tony waved him off with a snort and moved his head around to look for the fridge before remembering, yet again, that he couldn't fucking see. That set his mood on edge even more, old habits that died hard and new ones he was going to have to develop.  
  
"On your left," JARVIS reminded more gently, and Tony was thankful the AI didn't have a face to express pity, because Tony would feel more inclined to punch it and that would be unfair to his baby.  
  
"Thanks," he groused and did a sort of blind-man-sideways-shuffle until he found the door handle and opened the refrigerator with a triumphant cry. One open, the bad mood kicked right back in, because:  
  
A: He had _no_ idea what was in there, never mind actually being able to pick and chose things by touch alone

 

and  
  
B: something smelled like it died twice over, which was good news that no one went in the penthouse as ordered, but Jesus Christ shut the door before you die of poisoning by noxious gas.  
  
"Well JARV, something's rotten in the state of Denmark. Order me something and make them leave it on the table by the elevator."  
  
"The usual?"  
  
"The usual," he confirmed, closing the door quickly. "Not feeling particular exotic after, as you said, sticking my tongue down a god's throat."  
  
" _Enemy,_ sir, the enemy's throat."  
  
"Same thing," Tony grunted as he shuffled out of the kitchen. Soft _pings_ came up right away, and he stiffly walked down the middle of the hall that was actually wide about for three people to walk, but felt horribly claustrophobic when one was living in fear of sharp corners.  
  
He was doing just fine until he forgot that the center part of the living room actually dipped down and he missed the step regardless of the warning _ping_ and fell magnificently to the floor. It was frustrating, of course, but he was no where near as panicked or near-tears as yesterday. Which, actually, was kind of surprising for Tony. He generally had a formula for mental break downs, and this was not how they worked.  
  
It got bad suddenly, like yesterday, and he would go spiraling down, down, down for the next few days. Usually there would be copious amounts of alcohol, which he wouldn't be partaking in until he padded every damn sharp-cornered object in the penthouse because he tended to wander when drunk. But after the crash, Tony would feel great for the next few days, happy, high energy, lots of work done, and then it would really hit him and that's when Tony actually shut down.  
  
That's when he ends up sitting in one of his cars at four in the morning, pretending he's not crying even though no one's around to judge him anyway. That's when he starts to starve himself without meaning to, starts working recklessly just to feel some pain, and uses 'work' as an excuse to really hurt himself.  
  
So, maybe it was the whole blind thing, but for some reason Tony wasn't following his usual crash-and-burn schedule. He actually felt pretty good, which meant he either skipped over the initial spiral and went right into manic-happy time or he was actually handling this way better than he should be.  
  
" _Or perhaps it has something to do with Loki_ ," that not-so-little-anymore voice posed to him.  
  
"Shut up," Tony snarled, pushing himself up and crawling forward.  
  
 _Ping!_  
  
Fuck, where was it?  
  
Tony reached out carefully and found the Devil Coffee Table his skull met with yesterday.  
  
"One point to me," Tony cheered and crawled past it. He was about to pull himself onto the couch when a similar sounding ' _ping_ ' filled the air, causing him to freeze. The elevator doors rattled when they opened, and Tony ducked down to hide behind the couch.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Tony bit his lip and tried to ignore the nagging voice telling him to stop being such a child and go get your damn food.  
  
"I've got your order... three burgers, one large fry, and uuuh... milkshake?"  
  
"Please bring it to the man cowering behind the furniture in the living room," JARVIS instructed, and Tony glared at the floor. That was a petty piece of revenge for tongue-fucking Loki, but perhaps he had earned it.  
  
Tony popped his head up and waved in the general direction of the elevator, "Hi there!"  
  
He heard a small squeak that could have been either the styrofoam take out containers, or the delivery boy's fear. Tony was voting for the latter.  
  
"Bring it on over," he instructed, and tried to pull himself onto the couch as gracefully as possible. "Tony Stark hungers more by the minute."  
  
"Why were you hiding behind the couch?" The whiny voice asked as it drew closer.  
  
"You never know when an enemy could show up, had to be prepared. Element of surprise and all that."  
  
"Oh yes," JARVIS chimed in, "you were very surprised last night, when the enemy entered your home."  
  
Tony shot the ceiling a glare that he hoped was even more terrifying with the scarring around his eyes.  
  
"Oh shit! Someone broke into the Avengers tower?!" The voice squawked, shoving the food packages into Tony's hands. He nearly dropped them, and had to reign in his death glare, because obviously the kid had never been blind before and therefor didn't know how fucking hard it was to have shit shoved into your hands. Not to mention the whole, 'I don't like things fucking handed to me' thing that nearly sent his precious food to the floor. He managed to hold on to both the food and his temper, and flashed an easy smile.  
  
"We handled it quickly enough," he said smoothly. "Guy never had a chance."  
  
There was a sharp noise, which sounded suspiciously like an AI trying to snort, and Tony ignored it happily.  
  
"Anyway,” Tony continued, “ask the lady at the front desk for your tip."  
  
"So you fought him?" The kid asked, and goddamn did this dude not understand the rules of personal space? Tony could actually smell him, which might be his cool new super power if the kid didn't smell like sweat and burger grease.  
  
"Yep, now, why don't you—"  
  
"How'd you do that when you're blind?"  
  
Tony bristled instantly, and the food was carefully placed to his left before he jumped up at the kid. His aim was surprisingly accurate, and one hand halted right over the Adam's apple of his throat, the other aimed to drive the nasal bone up into his brain.  
  
"Just. Like. _That_."  
  
The kid was trembling, and Tony really didn't feel as bad as he should, which was okay because he never felt as bad as he should, but he let him go all the same and sat back down.  
  
"Now off you go," he shooed him away, "save the world, one burger at a time."  
  
He could hear the nervous swallow all the way across his newly earned personal-space bubble, and grinned cheerfully at him, waiting for him to leave.  
  
"T-thank you, sir."  
  
Tony just smiled as he listened to the shuffle of loose fitting jeans—probably hanging off his ass, too—move further away. Somewhere by the elevator, the kid called back, "you still kick ass, Ironman!" Before the doors slid closed with a thunk.  
  
Tony sat in silence for a while, not moving, and certainly not eating. He didn't know how long it was before JARVIS said, "that was rather cruel of you, sir."  
  
"Maybe Loki's rubbing off on me," he snapped, picking at the lid of the food container.  
  
The AI stayed silent, and a few moments later Tony whispered, "I know."  
  


* * *

  
  
It was not working, nothing was working. Why was nothing _working_?!  
  
The bowl did not go flying, this time, and Loki prided himself in his restraint. Instead, he returned to the saggy couch in the middle of the living room, and threw himself into it with a defeated sigh.  
  
 _Why, oh why, did all things with mortals have to be so complicated?_ Loki thought with a bitter smile.  
  
No, rather, all things to do with _Stark_ seemed to be complicated, where as other mortals were _so_ much easier to manipulate. The moment Loki thought he had the man wrapped around his finger, he would do something to break his concentration. Loki would never admit to it being his own fault that Stark fascinated him—a mere curiosity, nothing more—and lay the blame on the man's infuriating ability to change the course of any situation to suit his needs.  
  
Things had just begun to lean towards what he wanted the other night, when Loki was suddenly being pushed away. Stark's expression had been full of want, startlingly so, but his mouth was forming words of denial. Inferring that Loki wanted something from him, something far more than what Loki _actually_ desired.  
  
" _Liar_ ," the voice said with obvious amusement.  
  
Loki twitched and curled in on himself further. Perhaps he _did_ want more for himself, but that was understandable considering his life. These past thousand years, in particular, had been particularly unkind to him. Any signs of affection were welcome to a starving man, it was not as though Loki desired Stark in particular. No matter how brilliant he was, or that dark humor of his that had him chuckling during many of his visits, or the way he touched Loki to make sure he was _real_.  
  
A snarl escaped his lips, and Loki dug his nails into the flesh of his arms to distract himself.  
  
He was _not_ interested in him. He simply needed to break the contract, which could have been formed with anyone, it was not as thought the man was _special_.  
  
Yes, the contract. The one that kept him from falling apart even as he sat there in his hovel of an apartment. The damned contract that kept him retuning to Stark over and over again to merely keep himself functioning at a basic level.  
  
He could already feel it wearing off, his body weakening, every movement slower than the last. Ten hours, it had only been ten hours since he last touched the mortal, and already there were signs of scarring across his body. Loki knew his hands were next, as the last time he spent a week away from the mortal, they broke only four days in.  
  
So, no, he was not interested in that worm of a man, he simply needed him, needed to touch him, to absorb his energy to stay alive.  
  
 _For now_ , he reminded himself. _Only for now._  
  
Loki could almost feel that nasty little voice laughing at him in the back of his mind, and he dug his nails in deeper. He needed to see Stark, and he needed more blood for another attempt to break the bond. Perhaps he should just cut something off from his body. What need a blind man of an hand or an arm?  
  
" _All the better to hold you with_ ," the voice purred.  
  
"No," Loki snarled.  
  
" _All the better to ease your pain_ ," it said again.  
  
"Only for that."  
  
" _Lair_ ," the voice laughed, and Loki left, only to escape his own mind, not because he wanted to _see_ Stark.

* * *

  
  
The burgers tasted better going down than they did coming back up, and by the tenth time Tony had thrown up, he was sure all that was left was stomach lining and maybe some of his soul. He had headed back to the kitchen, intending to search for ketchup, when the first wave of nausea hit him, and he just made it to the sink before he vomited. He was then forced to hang on to the counter for the next hour while he rode it out.  
  
"That... sucked" He coughed and cupped a handful of water to drink. "Strike them off my food list. Food poisoning, gotta be."  
  
"I detected no toxins or bacteria as you expelled said food into the sink, sir."  
  
Tony scowled and moved away from the sink. He didn't get far, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the kitchen floor with his back pressed against the cabinets. Everything was shaky, and for a second, Tony thought it was an earthquake before he remembered he wasn't in California and New York wasn't as prone to earthquakes.  
  
"What is it? What's going on? Please tell me this isn't related to the accident and more to do with my recent head trauma."  
  
JARVIS was silent for a long time, or actually, he wasn't, Tony just dozed off for a second there.  
  
"What?" He asked lowly, trying to keep his head from flopping to the side.  
  
"I am reading high levels of radiation in your body," JARVIS repeated, "such a high level in such a small amount of time is unnatural, considering there are no major sources of radiation in the vicinity that you could have been exposed to."  
  
Tony grimaced and there went his head flopping to the side. Weird, he felt like he was, yep, there goes his body too. He hit the floor with an unpleasant thunk and tried to ask how the hell radiation entered his body in his own goddamn penthouse. Only, his throat was kind of closing up, and he felt oddly hot, like sticky hot, maybe desert hot, and why was he thinking about that? That never helped him feel better, deserts, sand—god he actually felt better with the car battery then he does right now.  
 _  
_ _Is this dying? Why am I dying after all that shit? Why now?_ _  
  
_ _Wasn't I supposed to do something more?_  
  
Strong, blissfully cold, hands lifted his head from the floor, and Tony already had a delirious smile across his face when that British voice called out his name with a surprising amount of concern.  
  
"Stark!?" Now he was being lifted from the floor, which made Tony giggle, for some reason. "Stark, what is wrong?"  
  
"Desert... maybe radiation," he mumbled, nuzzling his head into Loki's chest. Something was thrumming inside of him, and it wasn't his arc reactor. In fact, the ache he had been feeling in his chest since he woke up was easing, and the nausea was almost completely gone.  
  
Tony found himself wrapping his arms around Loki like some kind of life line. Only, that didn't seen to be far off, because the more contact he made, the better he felt. He could actually think now, and his brain was not so dull that he didn't make the connection.  
  
"Are you healing me?" He rasped against Loki's chest. He smelled good, sort of like old wood and spices which was weirdly attractive to him. Then again, he was never one for flowery perfumes, which is why he always enjoyed Pepper and her fruity, tropical scents she use to use. Shit, that was not the direction he wanted his thoughts to go in. Back to the important stuff, like why hadn't Loki answered him?  
  
"Loki? Dapper Man? Ba-Ba Black Sheep?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Loki growled, and tried to dump him onto what Tony hoped was the couch. Tony clung on to him with a brilliant display of monkey skills, and refused to let go no matter how the god snarled and pried at him. "Stark, get _off_ of me."  
  
"No, not until you've answered my question."  
  
Loki sighed right into his ear, which sent a pleasant shiver down Tony's spin that he was ignoring, oh yes he _was_.  
  
"I am not healing you," Loki mumbled as he sat down on the couch, Tony still wrapped around him like a sloth on a branch. "As I told you before, I am incapable of much magic, currently."  
  
Tony chewed this over in his mind as he kept his body firmly pressed against the god. He wasn't even sure of he could move away, even if he wanted to. It was as though the magnet in his chest was attracted to gods, or something, because he had this powerful need to touch him. Loki, too, seemed to relax into him, those long arms wrapping around his back to support him better. It was when a head dropped to his shoulders, long hair tickling Tony's neck and resigned sigh in his ear that Tony knew something was seriously wrong.  
  
Both of them were way too calm about this situation, and since when did touching Loki cure sudden and acute radiation poisoning? Also, where the fuck did Tony even _get_ acute radiation poisoning?   
  
"Loki, what's going on? Why are you even here again, why do you keep coming back?"  
  
The body tensed against his, and for a moment Tony thought the god wasn't going to answer him.  
When he did, something about the tone of his voice sounded strangely guilty.  
  
"Stark, there is something I must tell you..."  
  
When he didn't continue, Tony prompted, " _Okaaaay._.. tell me?"  
  
Loki shifted so that his head was away from him, and Tony could almost feel the god's eyes boring into him.  
  
"I may have made a grave mistake that... may be the cause of your current condition."  
  
Tony started to tense up now, and he had to force his body to shift away from Loki. He still didn't get far, but he didn't exactly feel like snuggling right now.  
  
"Which one? I have many, you know."  
  
Loki was silent again, the kind of silence that loomed over you all foreboding and terrifying, and _holy shit something was seriously wrong_.  
  
"Loki, which one?" He asked again, his stomach filling with dread.  
  
A soft brush of fingers grazed his eyelids just as they had once before, and Loki said, “This one.” 


	6. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew it was coming, he just didn't expect it to go quite that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, small continuity error has been edited.

  
  
"What?" He breathed, fingers curling into fists against the god's chest.  
  
"In my escape, I may have caused this."  
  
Tony forgot how to do that thing called breathing. He really _needed_ to do that thing, because his head felt fuzzy and his body was going numb. Air was good, air was fuel for his brain and he really, really needed full control of that right now.  
  
In a display of Bruce-like zen, he managed a few deep breaths before asking, " _You_ did this... how did you even...?"  
  
"If I tell you, swear to me you will listen all the way through," Loki urged him. Then he added in a quieter voice, "there are things you must know... and things even I am unsure of."  
  
Loki sounded very much like he didn't want to admit this, which didn't exactly reassure Tony in anyway. What do you do when the super-powerful god didn't know what was going on with magic and you really, really didn't have a clue?  
  
Tony let go of the Loki's shirt and sat up straight, feeling awkward and irritable. What he really wanted to do was book it across the room and maybe fine a suit, some sort of weapon and a drink.  
  
 _Yeah, I need a drink._  
  
But no, his body was not having any of that. Apparently, it decided that what it needed as a nice dose of _Loki_ , and nothing else. He could not physically leave the god's lap, embarrassingly enough. What the hell was he thinking when did he started clinging to him?Oh, that's right, he wasn't, he was dying of radiation poisoning and Loki magically appeared. Now he was stuck in his lap and he had no idea how he was gong to handle this 'story'. No, that was a lie, he had some idea. Not good, that's exactly how.  
  
"Talk then," he said at last, facing Loki and, even though he couldn't see, looking him right in the eye. He almost smiled when he felt the god's discomfort come off his body in waves. Someone didn't like being faced with their mistake, huh?  
  
"Then, I shall begin with my escape..."  
  
Tony prepared himself to listen in perfect, unnerving silence as Loki began to explain, hoping to put him off, or at least get an ounce of guilt out of him.  
  
"I was locked away immediately after my trail, in a cell made to dampen my powers. My hands were... bound and—"  
  
"You mean they were _crushed_ , Thor said they were crushed between metal plates."  
  
Loki's body twitched in what felt like a wince before he went on in a tight voice, "I suppose they were, yes. I am surprised he actually told you of that. As mournful as he appears now , he was not preseby at my trial, only for my incarceration. He sewed my lips shut while the he king watched. Oh, and the Lady Frigga..."

  
Tony waited after the awkward pause and started to lose control of his neutral expression. His mom was there? That must have been a little extremely horrible for her to watch.  
  
"Your mom, right? Frigga is your mom, I thought. How did she take it?" he prompted.  
  
"She was the one who spelled the plates together, and the thread that sewed my lips closed."  
  
"What?!" Tony gasped. "Your _mother_ did that to you?"  
  
"Don't you _dare_ judge her with an ounce of your petty mortal justice, Anthony Stark, or you shall lose your tongue! Do not presume to understand anything of our lives, " Loki snapped quickly in response, and Tony put his hands up in resignation. He wasn't really one to judge, being a family issues poster boy, himself, and he liked his tongue still attached to his head, thank you very much.  
  
"She is the only one strong enough to contain my magic," Loki explained, still tensed up like a cat ready to spring. "she was the only one who could even begin to contain it, and even then, I had lost the fight in me and did not... respond as I usually would."  
  
"Are you saying you let them do that to you?"  
  
"Will you ever let me continue my story? I was under the illusion that questions were answered over the course of a tale."  
  
"You could have just said 'hold on, i'm getting to that'."  
  
Tony wiggled a little as the once pleasantly chilly fingers jabbed at his side in an almost playful manner which really didn't suit the situation or the mood, or even _Loki_. Then again, Tony had to be grateful it wasn't a knife or some explosion of magic—oh right, Loki had limited magic now. He couldn't suppress the grin, because excuse me, that tickled, and also because maybe, just maybe, the thought that he could actually take the god in a fight right now was pleasing. Not that Loki seemed to want to fight, and that was a confusing issue Tony was not going to linger on too much right now. Too weird, too complicated, too fucked up.  
  
The tension in the body under him seemed to ease a little, maybe because Tony was smiling— _shut up Tony, that's a ridiculous notion, you are supposed to be smart_ —and he quickly settled back down to listen in the silence he promised himself he would keep, this time.  
  
"The important thing you must understand is that magic is not a stationary thing, Stark. It moves constantly through space and time, through bodies and minds alike. It never truly ends or dies, but is transferred to something else, ever changing, ever present."  
  
Tony nodded a little, having a thorough understanding of energy transference, especially involving thermodynamics. It was obviously the same thing, or something close enough to apply the same concepts to.  
  
"The point I am making," Loki continued, "is that my magic was never truly lost, simply pulled away from me and into something else."  
  
"Like what, a tin can?"  
  
"Like a body," Loki answered waving a hand at Tony, "no, not yours, do not make such a face. It was a celestial body."  
  
Tony scoffed, "you needed an entire planet to hold your energy? And I thought I had ego problems."  
  
"Which, of the two of us, has a tower with their name on it, looking over the city?"  
  
" _Had_ , had a tower with my name on it, you kind of knocked my name off. Also, you know you would have one too, if you could."  
  
"I am much more subtle than that, Stark."  
  
"An entire _planet_ ," Tony reminded, and grinned when Loki continued on as though he had never interrupted, the jerk.  
  
"I could not access this... planet to gain my powers back, so I was forced to travel another road." With this, Loki paused, clearly hesitant to get to the next part. The part where Tony obviously came in. Oh this was going to be good...  
  
"I made a contract that—"  
  
"You did _not_ make a contract with me," Tony interrupted cooly, "I would remember that much. Probably."  
  
"I don't need your conscious permission to make one, simply some small essence of you."  
  
At the word 'essence', Tony wracked his mind to find the key memory that would tell him when and how the hell Loki got any 'essence' of his before the god threw him out the window.  
  
"Nothing physical," Loki answered as if he heard Tony's thoughts. "Purely a shard of... well, you." Loki paused and added in a thoughtful voice, "or at least, what I thought was purely you."  
  
Tony shifted in his god-seat and said, "what does _that_ mean?"  
  
But instead of answering, Loki asked, "What is this?" and suddenly there were fingers closing around the edges of his reactor. Tony jerked back so fast he felt his neck crack, and nearly ended up meeting the coffee table again, if it wasn't for Loki's long arms curling around his waist tightly.  
  
"Do-don't touch this, _ever_ ," he managed, his own hand closing over it. He could feel his racing pulse even through the cold metal casing and took a deep, shuddering breath to fight off the impending panic attack. "You hear me? Don't go near it again."  
  
"Telling me not to go near the device is unwise. Surly you know that would pique my curiosity more?"  
  
"Be curious all you want, but do. Not. Touch. It."

 

 _Don't think about Obi. Don't think about Obi. Don't think about... fuck._  
  
Loki leaned back into the couch and let out a long-withering sigh reserved for dealing with noisy kids and deaf old people. Tony had half a mind to smack the asshole right now, and if the god's half-completed explanation of things was leading where he thought it was, Tony could probably get away with it. He owed Loki a good smack, at the very fucking least. Some other time, sometime when he wasn't about to freak out from, he never thought he would say this but, too much information at once and _way_ too much touching.  
  
"It keeps me alive," Tony answered at last, keeping his hand over it just in case that gave Loki any fresh ideas. "Got shrapnel heading for my heart, this keeps it out. It's the _only_ thing that keeps it out."  
  
"And since when did mortals dabble in magic?" Loki asked in his usual drawl. No, not his usual lazy tone, something more like that voice he used when they talked about physics back the hospital. Fascination, that's what it was. Still, magic? Really? Wasn't this guy was supposed to be _clever_?  
  
" _Magic_? It's not magic you moron, it's science. How dare you insult me like that."  
  
If Loki took him seriously, it didn't show in his voice. "It is a powerful substance, that which is in your chest. There is no point in hiding it, some form of alchemy was used, I recognized it instantly when the power flowed into me."  
  
"Alchemy? Okay, maybe I can go half way with you there... I made it, by which I mean I invented the element that powers it as well as the device. So, alchemy, sure, let's go with that." Tony hesitated a moment as his brain caught up, then asked, "what do you mean 'the power flowed into you'? You were like, a billion, billion miles away in some magic-dampened cell with crushed hands and a zipped up mouth."  
  
"The contract."  
  
"Which means you can just sap my energy whenever you want?"  
  
"Essentially, yes," Loki agreed, once more sounding bitter, if not a little defeated. That was an interesting sound to Tony's ears, Loki, defeated. Wasn't that a good thing for the god, an unlimited power source, clean energy?  
  
"I may have... used your body as a conduit for the spell, and it seems that at that exact moment, you were working with something volatile, yes?"  
  
"You _could_ say that," Tony replied tersely. "It blew up in my face, literally."  
  
"Ah...” was the god's only response, and a weird silence filled up the room. Tony didn't like silences, he never did, but now it felt like he was dropped into the void when the fell. He couldn’t occupy himself with his eyes, and usually fidgeting with stuff ended with him dropping said thing and losing it god know where because he couldn't damn well _see_ where he dropped it. Yeah, he _hated_ silence.

 

“I did not know something happened,” Loki said in a strange voice that made Tony wonder if the god was actually lying to him about that. But why lie? He obviously knew about it from the start, what else was there to it that made Loki cover it up so sloppily?

 

“When I left my cell I was made to follow the path here, where I found—"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Yes, you in a house of healing," Loki spoke softly, the fingers still pressed against Tony's back flexing against his skin. "I did not expect to be called to your side like some sort of _servant_ , to be forced to come to you and this damned realm again."  
  
Tony kept his face as blank as possible, but internally he had to admit, that kind of hurt. He knew the moment the stranger showed up in his hospital room that they weren't really there for him. He wasn't anyone special enough to visit, not anymore. But when the Brit stuck around and began spending time with him, maybe, just a little bit, Tony started to hope. That had been stupid, obviously, because angry god or random British guy, who would actually _want_ to be there for him?  
  
Clint only visited out of some sense of duty, that was obvious. Maybe a little sick sense of humor, too, if those fucking dates were anything to go by. Natasha, well, was Natasha. She had a multitude of reasons to choose from, checking in for Fury, that duty thing any government worker in any position seemed to have, planning to kill him in his sleep.  
  
Bruce... that was a failure right there. Bruce didn't want to be there for him, either. Tony understood all of their reasons, but he totally sympathized with Bruce more. No one wants to hurt themselves, and possibly others, just to visit the angry, blind, short man in the hospital. Hell, they couldn't even science anymore, that really dropped Tony out of the picture. At least the guy seemed happy enough to make him pancakes when he got home, gold stars for that.  
  
Then there was Pepper Potts and Rogers, who Tony didn't _want_ visiting in the first place.  
  
So really, who did he have but that random stranger who read to him, and actually talked to him without tip-toeing around the blind elephant in the room? Who fed him in an oddly affectionate way that sleazy women had often tried with him before, and had failed miserably. It wasn't like it was all good, things never were. Even before Tony knew who it was, they argued and sometimes the stranger—Loki, would be such a cold asshole with his comments on Tony's condition.  
  
Tony shifted once more and tipped his head down, no longer bothering with the thousand-yard-blind stare. Loki was definitely not going to feel guilty, even if his mistake was blatantly displayed in front of him, and no amount of Tony's distaste was going to grow the god a heart and earn him an apology. Loki had done what he needed to do, and Tony was just collateral damage.  
  
Why did _that_ sound familiar?

 

Those words echoed in his mind until, oh yeah, straight from the mouth of one Directory Fury. Day one of being blind. Ground zero.  
  
"Collateral damage, Stark,” he said, “You and I both know it comes with the job, and it don't matter much you think you know, sometimes you're wrong." And somewhere beyond all the pain Tony knew he was referring to his bad eye.  
  
"I wasn't w-wrong," Tony had croaked from inside the quarantine room, his eyes freshly bandaged and still bleeding. "I did everything... right."  
  
"Obviously you didn't."  
  
"I _did_."  
  
"You didn't, it's over," Fury said, and Tony wondered why he was the one to make that call before he blacked out.  
  
Back in reality, Tony had really started to lose what little bit of determination he had been cultivating since he returned to the tower, and tried to shrug away the pain of being disposable. He knew he was easily thrown away, like Fury said, like Loki implied. But, seriously, If Loki was really that 'burdened with glorious Tony', why did he keep coming back? If it was so much god damn trouble, why the hell did he read half the Hobbit to him, or hand-feed him fruit? None of that made any sense for someone who unexpectedly got weighed down with some unwanted mortal.  
  
"Okay, so that explains how you used me, ruined my life, and then was forced to show up in said life to feed me blueberries, _apparently_ against your will, I might add," he said, counting off on his fingers. "What that doesn't explain is why you're here now, again, helping me, _again_."  
  
There was a long moment of silence that usually meant the god had left, but no, Loki was still sitting under Tony, and god dammit did he hate silences. "No reason I wish to discuss with you."  
  
"Uh huh, sure, that's not gonna cut it this time. No more enigmatic bullshit, no more games. You've invaded my life for a reason, something more than this contract, because unless said contract tells you you need to kiss me, I think there's something else going on here that you need to let me in on before I keep assuming you actually want to be here. Just tell me what you fucking _want_ from me."  
  
"I want _nothing_ from you!" Loki nearly shrieked, sitting up so abruptly he almost sent Tony flying off his lap. "You mean _nothing_ to me, you pointless creature! You are simply a worn out tool, a cesspit good for only the heat the damned excrement provides!" Loki's tone turned cold and Tony could hear the nasty sneer in his voice, "just look at you, clinging to me because no one else wants to come near the poor, useless—"  
  
 _Thud!_  
  
So, Tony was sent toppling off his lap after all, but he really didn't care because landing that punch in felt so damn good and it was totally worth smashing through the glass top of the coffee table. Now he just needed to run away as fast as he could.  


* * *

  
  
Loki had not seen it coming, so blinded by his own rage he did not even sense the movement on the air. _That_ was why the full weight of the mortal's fist met his face with no resistance, and sent his head snapping back painfully.  
  
The shock of the attack lasted almost a full minute before he jerked himself up, absolutely fuming.  
  
"How _dare_ you strike me?!" He roared, towering over the little man. He lurched forward to grab Stark's shirt, but was hit suddenly in the stomach by a well placed kick. The mortal under him grunted, flung himself backwards and summersaulted his body away from Loki. He didn't get far, however, because even his pitiful head start wasn't enough to save him from Loki's speed.  
  
He plowed into the man, sending him face first into the carpet littered with glass. The startled whimper of pain was delicious, and Loki dug his knees into the man's back with glee.  
  
"Do you think yourself strong for managing one measly hit? Does the man of Iron feel _brave_?" he mocked, leaning his full weight into Stark's back. The man let out a choked scream and started to struggle underneath him.  
  
"JARVIS... JAR... Loki, S-sto... _ssstop_!" Stark's begging was cut off when Loki curled his fingers in his hair and smashed his face down into the floor. The struggling seemed to cease completely at that, and Loki let out a disappointed huff.  
  
"Such heroes are these, those who cannot even defend themselves from their own weaknesses."  
  
Loki watched the still figure for a moment, his rage still yet to cool, and turned away to leave. There was no point in further confrontation, if the mortal was already down. He would return later to attempt to sort things out, when he was less likely to kill the man.

 

This time he heard it, and turned to block the blow before it landed. He laughed at the bloody face below him, filled with anger and determination as he had seen it in battle once before. His laugh was cut short when three things happened in quick succession.  
  
One, the man twisted under him, his small body moving too fast and too low to the ground for Loki to keep his grip on Stark's arm. Two, one stubby leg lashed out and sent him sprawling back. He was better prepared for this, and raised his hands to catch himself and spring back into action. Only, the man had other ideas, and quite literally threw his tiny body on top of him the second he had an opening, and slammed them both into the glass littering the floor.  
  
Loki hissed in anger, not caring for the spikes of pain now crawling up his spine. His entire back was on fire now, but that meant nothing, everything was meaningless except one thing. Killing that mortal.  
  
The same mortal, who was currently attempting to press his arm against Loki's throat. He glared up at the mans milky, blank eyes, narrowed and angry even as they were sightless. He wanted to laugh, again, at the pitiful display of bravery. Was this really the man who saved Midgard from Loki's army? Truly, how 'heroes' fall, and fall far.  
  
It took no effort to dislodge Stark from him, just a simple blow to the side of his head that sent him flying across the room into the small step up from the carpeted area they had been struggling in. Loki stood, shaking as much of the glass off of his body as he could, and stalked over to the man who lay panting on the floor.  
  
"What, no witty commentary now?" Loki drawled, standing over him and curling his fingers into the man's shirt to pull him up to eye level. He was so small, so light. Really, it was just too tempting to simply toss him out a window again.  
  
But there was something about the way he was staring up at him in silence that made Loki hesitate. Namely, the way he wasn't breathing.  
  
"Do not think you can fool me..." he began, his eyes narrowing as he studied the face before him. Whatever terror Stark had felt before Loki had thrown him from his tower was nothing as strong as the fear in the man's eyes now. So wide and watery, staring up at nothing as his mouth opened and shut. There were a few rattling gasps, but clearly not enough to constitute as breathing, and everything was slowing to a stop.  
  
"I did not understand... what is this?"  
  
The man did not answer, but one hand began to scrabble at Loki's wrist desperately, nails clawing at the soft flesh of his arm.  
  
"Cease this flailing," Loki demanded, letting the mortal go and watching him drop to the floor like a broken doll. It was not an act, apparently. Any sane man would have at lest protected his head from that fall.  
  
So, Loki knelt down and looked him over, weighing his options. He could let him die of... whatever was ailing him, and perhaps be free of the bond. Then again, there was the possibility that Stark was his only connection to his body of magic, and his death could very well be Loki's as well.  
  
Then there were those captivating eyes staring up at him uselessly. Two broken orbs so full of pain and fear and desperation to live that called out to him in the most terrifying of ways. Even now, as the rattling breaths grew more shallow, the man was still clawing at his chest.  
  
His _chest_.  
  
The device that kept him alive.  
  
Loki's hands jumped into action before his brain could question himself any further. The shirt was pulled free to reveal a still-glowing circlet in Stark's chest that was now surrounded by a strange pattern of bruising. Loki frowned at that, his fingers brushing over the strangely-cold glass plate as he tried to assess the situation.  
  
Bruising meant something had punctured his chest in some way, perhaps the object already in his chest? How deep did that thing go, and if it were driven further into his body, were his lungs not... but... _oh_.  
  
Loki remembered his knee driven into the mortal's back, the grinding, crunching sound as he pressed him further into the floor. He _had_ done this to him, and that usually quiet voice in the back of his mind screamed, " _FIX HIM!_ "  
  
  
"How?" He whispered to himself, his hands ghosting over the spreading bruises once more. "I do not even know where to begin, and my magic..."  
  
" _Fix him._ "  
  
"I don't know how to fix this," Loki choked, fingers now curling around the rim of the device.  
  
" _HELP HIM!_ " It screamed again.  
  
"I CANNOT!" Loki bellowed, and something under the palm of his hand exploded with light.  
  
 _Oh_ , he thought, _how had I forgotten? The power source and I are connected._  
  
Loki pulled at that power, feeling it twist and writhe its way up his arms and into his core. It was strong, so bright and clean, and nothing at all like his own tainted magic. He knew this was something he would never feel running through his veins so potently again, and wasted a second to bathe in its gentle glow before he pushed it all back into the man under him with a whispered spell on his lips.  
  
Stark screamed, so sharply and loud that Loki winced at the sound. It was only a short moment, and Loki was sad to see the last drop of energy flow from his finger tips, leaving him cold and empty inside. The body below him glowed with a renewed warmth, and the first few breaths were wet and gasping. And only a moment later, the man started to wheeze with laughter.  
  
"Let's never fight again," he rasped, grinning up at the ceiling in a way that made Loki unsure if he was joking or not. Either way, he smiled to himself, glad that the man could not see it, and opened his mouth to agree that, yes, that would be advisable if he wished to remain among the living.  
  
Before he could speak, there was a deep tolling of a bell, and Loki had only a second to look up at the sound before he registered the thudding of hurrying feet coming down the hallway.  
  
Stark was sitting up in the blink of an eye, pushing blindly at Loki's body and gasping, "Loki, you've got to go! Fuck, you need to go, _now_!"  
  
Loki pulled himself up from the floor, casting one last look down at the worried face, and strong arms pushing away, and teleported himself away just as someone's voice called out.  
  
"Tony!?"

 

His dingy apartment flickered into view, and the sparse, emptiness of it struck him harder than ever. His hands still felt warm from where they had pressed against the mortal's chest to save his life. Just was the man's hands had pushed him away to save him from comrades.

 

Why had he done that for him, to keep him a secret even after Loki had nearly killed him?

 

Why did he had to save that infuriating man from death in the first place?

 

Why did he continue to return time and time again, just as Stark had asked him?

  
Why?

Why?

 _Why_?  



	7. Fate's a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where maybe everything doesn't suck. Then again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not very edited. Sorry.

 

 

It was raining. 

 

It had started hours ago, first with large drops that struck everything with a loud, uneven chattering. Then, the barometric pressure slowly decreased, and the sound became a steady roar as the sky decided to throw itself upon the city. 

 

 _Somewhere_ , Tony thought,  _there was an upset God of Thunder. Or maybe two upset gods, actually._

 

He was currently sitting on the couch of the common room, two floors down from his ruined living room and nice, inviting bed. He was lucky, maybe, that none of the team had seen Loki as they burst into the room. Half of him still wished they saw the god, half of him was actually really glad they didn't. It sucked, because Tony wasn't usually one for conflicting emotions or anything complicated in the emotion department at all. When he made a choice, he stuck with it until he was faced head-on with piles of his own fucking weapons in the hands of terrorists, for example. The point was, it took a lot to change his stance on anything, and this thing with Loki was not the exception. It wasn't  _supposed_  to be an exception. 

 

It was turning out to be an exception. 

 

The fighting, and the kissing, and whole thing where he was suddenly dying of radiation poisoning and then suddenly not when Loki arrived? Yeah, that was weird. Also strange, was that itch under his skin that was slowly growing the longer he sat on the couch and listened to rain. Actually, that it's might have been from the eyes of four people staring at him from around the room. He could almost pinpoint where everyone was from the intensity of their gazes. To test it out, Tony rolled a chocolate covered blueberry on his hand and chucked it as hard as he could at what felt like the direction of Clint's beady eyes. 

 

"Oow—what the fuck?!" 

 

Tony grinned and gave him a thumbs up, now that he knew where he was. "He shoots, he scores!"

 

"How the hell did you even manage that?" Clint grumbled, and then Tony felt the blueberry bounce off the side of his head, and laughed. His fingers went back to fidgeting with the bag of them that Bruce gave him, dumping a few into his hand and rolling them around again. It was bribery again. Something to get him to leave his penthouse after their desperate attempts that involved a technique called 'screaming at him'. It was just like the pancakes were, a treat to dangle in front of his face. Bruce sure was a devious one, Tony would have to keep his eye on him. 

 

_Ha ha._

 

"Seriously, how?" 

 

"My moron sense was tingling," Tony replied at last, closing the bag and pushing it the side without eating the bribe. He had  _some_  dignity.

 

"Tony, can we talk about what happened?"

 

Tony turned towards the voice of America and scowled. No, they could  _not_  talk about it. But knowing Steve, they were sure as hell going to try.

 

"What happened to the table?" 

 

"It broke." 

 

"Tony, there were chunks of glass sticking out of your back and face." 

 

"I broke it with my back and then inspected it closely." 

 

Steve sighed heavily, and Tony could almost see him rubbing at his forehead like he always did when Tony got under his skin before. It used to be kind of charming, the aggravated soldier 'doing his best' routine. But after what happened with SHIELD and Pepper, Tony found little pleasure in even taunting the man. Honestly, he just wanted to be left alone.

 

"How about this rain, huh?" He offered as a new topic, gesturing at said weather wailing against the glass behind him. "Has anyone talked to Thor lately, because this has 'moping Thunder God' all over it?"

 

"He came here a little while back and tried to convince me I was in danger of Loki, apparently," Bruce said from somewhere down at the other end of the couch. "I didn't know you knew he was back." 

 

"He came to visit me in the hospital. Kicked up a fuss with the nurses." Tony chuckled at the memory of the nurses complaining after Thor's visit and added, "he needs to stop doing that. From what I've heard from that Darcy chick, this isn't the first time." 

 

"Wait, did you say  _Loki_?" Steve interjected. "I thought Loki was... locked up in Asgard." 

 

Tony heard Bruce shift towards the captain and suddenly he was out of the conversation as the scientist began to explain the same thing Thor said to him before. Not that he minded being left out and all, but why was he down here again? Oh yeah, table smashing and Loki fighting. He really needed to come up with an excuse for the bruises and embedded glass. Maybe later, when his brain didn't feel like mush, and we're they still talking about it? Tony tuned in again just in time to hear Bruce finish his story. "...he seems really upset about Loki avoiding him and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'm more worried about what Loki's going to do to the world than how Loki feels right now." 

 

"Why didn't he talk to me about it while he was here?" Steve asked in an odd voice.

 

Tony just  _had_  to join in again. "Just because you labeled yourself the leader doesn't mean everyone has to report to you, Home of the Free. Last time I checked, he's a prince, and a god, and you're still the test-tube-super-baby."

 

"Stark, I'm not even going to bother asking why you didn't tell us about it, yourself. Since you apparently knew about Loki's escape weeks ago."

 

"Good for you, Rogers," Tony snapped. "I'm so glad you're learning your lesson about asking—excuse me,  _ordering_  me to do things. Because any rational creature would see that it was Thor's sob story to tell, not mine, and everyone knows I don't answer to you no matter what mystical army position you hold. Oh, I'm sorry,  _held_. Were you ever a captain? I forget." 

 

Steve's glare was burning holes in the side of his head, but the room fell silent except for the sound of rain. It was distracting, that constant noise that seemed to come from all around him. He had never noticed it before, back when he was distracted by looking at things, but it really dampened everything when it rained. Literally and figuratively.

  He could hear the rattle of it against the class, the single repetitive drip somewhere close by that was a lot louder than the rest for some reason. He could even hear the trickle of the pipes that moved through the outer walls, draining the water from the roof. 

 

Steve had started talking to Bruce again sometime during Tony's zone out, with both spies joining in to make plans about Loki. He decided to tune them out once and for all, because he really had nothing left to offer them, and besides, Loki was  _his_  problem, not theirs. He would deal with it as he saw fit, and currently, he kind of just wanted to curl up in Loki's arms like he did for that short spell the night before. It was funny how almost dying by his hand, again, didn't seem to deter any of his desires to be close to the god.

 

 And there was that itch again, clawing up his chest, scratching at the back of his mind like a cat. He needed to see Loki again, soon. Especially since he had a theory about the acute radiation poisoning that needed to be proven one way or another. Preferably without the actual events of poisoning again, and possibly with less beating-the-shit out of one another. That wasn't fun.

 

 _And you were so fucking wrong about being able to take him in a fight_. 

 

Voices rudely interrupted his rain-zen as they tried to get him to join the conversation as 'Chief Strategist' or whatever bullshit position it was today, and he did his best impersonation of being deaf. They only gave up after he started humming, one of them whispering, "childish," in a low voice they probably thought he couldn't hear. Someone obviously forgot that Tony was, in fact, not deaf, but very blind instead.

 

After that, he kept his face turned to the window, and silently wished it would rain every day. If only to drown out the bullshit around him and give his sightless life some background.

 

* * *

 

By the time Tony escaped their clutches, with as little explanation  about the events of his table-smashing as possible, hours of ignoring their planning had passed. He was already starting to feel nauseous again, which could either be due to the fact that he hadn't eaten since he threw up and had a throw down with Loki, or maybe it was time to test his theory. Either way, they were starting to get on his last nerve, anyway. His  _last_  last nerve. 

 

Thankfully, the team didn't seem all that eager to keep him around anymore, and somehow Tony ended up in the service elevator again without realizing it. He let out half-hearted string of curses when the damn bell sounded at his floor. It was Irritating.  _Everything_  was irritating. 

 

"JARVIS, put in a work order for that thing and... maybe order some more food." 

 

"Work request sent," JARVIS replied quickly, "perhaps we shall order from another establishment this time, sir?" 

 

Tony leaned against the wall, not even ten feet from the evil elevator, and checked his pulse. He felt like shit, battered and achy all over and maybe a little dehydrated, too. Not that he could blame the god for that part, the rest of it, however, was all on him.  

 

Whatever Loki had done had apparently healed him, to a point. It seemed to have focused on the major stuff, like the arc reactor being driven into his lungs and esophagus and all that fun stuff, and clearly some pretty deep gauges had disappeared, if he remembered correctly. He was still covered in smaller cuts, probably with some glass permanently embedded in his face somewhere, and his knuckles felt like he had been punching a wall. Which, with Loki's boney face, was pretty accurate.

 

Another wave of nausea hit him, and he let out a weak groan, glad to be alone when it started to kick him in the stomach. Just a minute longer and he would really have to start explaining things to those nosy jerks. Well, Bruce would probably want to work on him first, but the others might try to send him back to the hospital, or worse, to SHEILD.

 

"Hmmgh... maybe hold the food, I feel like... I think it's coming back." 

 

"The radiation sickness?" 

 

"Yep," Tony said, as he counted his heart beats. It was speeding up a little, either in panic or with the fever rush he felt coming over him. His knees gave out pretty quickly this time, and he slumped against the wall, gagging on nothing but stomach acid. Why was he allowing this, again? Oh right, testing... testing for... 

 

"Oh... I forgot the second h-half of the... equation." 

 

"Sir, I am calling your team back up here before—"

 

"No!" Tony yelped weakly, and slid further down to the floor. "Gotta know... no team..." 

 

"What are you waiting for?" 

 

Tony grinned lazily, his mind going hazy as his body threatened to give out at last. 

 

"Loki." 

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining, and as usual, Loki both adored and hated it. There was something appealing about the dark clouds that hung heavily overhead, lightning striking the tallest buildings across the city. Every rumble of thunder was doubled, tripled; each one echoing off the buildings on and on, forever bouncing off the glass walls of his new prison. 

 

Yes, prison. He city he had sought to destroy was now his home, at least, until he broke his bond with Stark. He hated to admit it, but it burned to see that damned mortal living in all his luxury while Loki himself lived in squaller. Still, it was better than his previous prison, even if the boundaries were just as limiting. Such weak magic surrounding him, that only flaired up when he was close to Stark. The damned contract was a foolish idea, and Loki did not often make such poor mistakes.

 

" _Liar_ ," the voice purred, and Loki tuned it out for the sound of the rain.

 

He loved it because silence came with the rain. For all the growling in the sky and the patter droplets against every exposed surface, living things tended to grow quiet when a storm came. They ducked inside to curl up in their hovels and watch the great beast in the sky with an old, primal fear. A fear of the gods that never left their mortal minds even as they progressed from love of the earth to love of meaningless objects. Even now, they still lived in fear of a god's wrath. 

 

Loki sucked in a breath and blew against the glass of the rattling window he was leaned against. From his lips, ice crawled across its surface, tiny fractals forming delicate patterns all the way up to the rotted wooden beam that separated the panes. 

 

What were the gods anymore? What was he to these mortals that no longer bowed to him from his simple tricks alone? He used to elicit worship by simply stepping upon their soil, a wave of a hand here, a well placed spell that turned their least favorite cousin into a pig. It was easy then, and perhaps that was why it grew boring and pointless in such a short time. That was why the gods left them, and in their time away, humans grew daunted and bored with their own existence, just as Loki had all those years ago. 

 Now it took much more to make them grovel, now it took an army, death and blood, examples made of those who stood against him. It took his wrath to make them remember he was a god again.

 A wrath was usually flame, and war, and rage, and  _work_. Wrath was something Thor was better at, with his lighting and his determination for what's right to be right, and wrong to be wrong. The foolishly strong belief that if one simply  _tried_  harder, everything would be good and well again.

 

 But Loki had a different rage inside of him, and nothing had ever looked so black and white. Were it did not burn, or spark like Thor's temper, it coiled, twisted, and expanded like ice. Slow and deliberate, with much more finality than any of Thor's temper tantrums could ever come to. It was fluid until the anger slowly grew and grew until there was nothing but sharp, cold hatred. That was Loki's wrath, and that was why he hated storms. Because he was different from his brother, and the sky was as gray as Loki's world had always been. Because it was Thor in the rain, Thor in the lighting, and Thor's unhappiness was all around him.

 

Loki lifted a finger and dragged it through the ice on the window pane, the faint heat of his body enough to melt a line through it. He could ignore it, but this time he wouldn't. His hands were already shaking, and there was something akin to a scream building up in the back of his mind. The contract was alerting him of something, and he would not be a fool to ignore it again, even if it meant suffering that man's presence one more.

 

" _Suffering, yes, I pity you and the sweet kisses you are forced to endure_." 

 

"I have half a mind to dig you out, myself," Loki growled at the voice, standing from his seat and dusting himself off.

 

" _Then who would be your voice of reason?_ " The voice scoffed, creeping back into the dark recesses of his mind to fall silent once again. Loki furrowed his brow, considering, not for the first time, that there may be something wrong with how free spirited his inner voice was. Was he really that split apart over this? Surly he had never had such active arguments before now? Then again, he had never been so conflicted over something. He lived in a gray world, but he did not dither. A choice was made, and perhaps it was good, perhaps it was bad, but it was his choice, and his alone.

 

Then just who or what was pushing him towards this mortal? 

 

Loki's eyes widened, whispering,"The contract...?"

 

The voice didn't reply, but somehow, Loki felt it was laughing at him. He scowled, turning on his heel in a flash of gold and appearing before the mortal who crafted this new cage for him without even knowing.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hooray..." Tony cheered weakly, managing a small wiggle of his fingers at Loki. The God had poofed into existence with a small pop somewhere near by, and Tony could already feel the nausea ebbing away. By the looks of it, his hypothesis was correct, and that the mere presence of the bastard was enough to stem off whatever this was.

 

"Stark?" Came the god's voice, not startled, but maybe a bit confused. "Are you ill again?" 

 

Pushing himself off the floor with a pathetic groan, Tony leaned back against the wall. He wasn't going to get far, not like this, and he sure as hell wasn't letting Loki carry him anytime soon. "Yeah, about that... something you want to tell me?"

 

"I know not what you mean," Loki replied, sounding honestly like he knew not what Tony meant and for fucks sake, wasn't this guy supposed to  _know_  this stuff? Magic was Loki's field, not his.

 

"So you have no idea why I start to suddenly almost up and die of radiation poisoning when you're gone for too long? Or how about the fact that the time between your visits seems to be getting shorter, like we're not doing something right and getting punished?"

 

There was a soft thump of Loki's body hitting the wall next to him, and an exasperated sigh sent chills down Tony's spine as the god's breath tickled his neck. Okay, it was a little infuriating that he felt better, a lot better, the closer Loki got. 

 

"I did not know, or ever suspect that you may be affected as I am. This was supposed to be a very temporary connection, yet somehow I am trapped here with you. "

 

"Wait, you get sick, too? And since when did you know you had to keep sucking energy out of me? Was that why you kept coming back to the hospital?"

 

Loki laughed bitterly, and Tony thought the sound was more depressing than anything else. "Yes, Stark, as pitiful as it is, I have need of your tiny mortal body. My suffering part of the contract, however, is another creature entirely," he answered, and leaned against Tony's shoulder suddenly. He grunted, a part of him wanting to push the contract-making bastard away, the other half still wanting to curl up in his arms and go to sleep.

 

"Hey, I may be short, but I nearly kicked your ass earlier.” He fell silent for a minute, his head flopping on to Loki's shoulder. “So something does happen to you when you run away from me, though.”

 

"You did not come even close, Stark, and yes, I seem to revert back into the condition I was in before my escape."

 

"You revert...?" Tony questioned softly, the rusty gears rattling into life in his mind. "If that's true for you, that means I was actually dying before your stupid spell kicked in." 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"I was working on something for SHIELD when you pulled your voodoo shit, and usually I don't work with any kind of nuclear cores or radioactive materials anymore, because come on, there's better ways and I don't _make_ fucking weapons anymore, but that's what they wanted and I was sort of... coerced into giving them what they wanted." He frowned and leaned a little heavier into Loki, adding darkly, "and by coerced, I mean _threatened_." 

 

Loki let out a grunt that sounded wholly unimpressed, but didn't comment further. So, Tony continued, "Actually, maybe Fury was right, maybe I did make a mistake. The sky must be filled with swine, the seas red, hell must be getting pretty chilly, a golden shit must—"

 

Loki cleared his throat, interrupting Tony's tangent, "Are you implying that my contract with you may be saving your life?"

 

"Maybe, but it's not like I know anything about magic, like _someone_ here. Isn't it the same for you, weren't your hands crushed?"

 

"I would hardly die from the conditions I were living in whilst imprisoned, and I would be foolish to craft something that would sabotage myself in the process." 

 

"True, plus you gave me a nice set of useless eyes, so I don't really _see_ any upside to this for me. Is this how all magical contracts work, the conduit gets the shit end of the stick while the magic user gets, what, stuck to them? Somehow I have very little sympathy for you right now, and I might have managed to dredge some up when I heard about your hands."

 

"Do not pity me, ever,” Loki warned in his ear, and before Tony could say 'I don't do pity', Loki continued quickly, “This is my first time attempting something like this, so my knowledge is a little limited, while the rest you simply would not understand. All magic works in a way that you must give what you take. I think the shortening of our time apart was the consequence of me healing you. But, you are alive," Loki added softly, "that is always something to be grateful for." 

 

"Says the guy who killed hundreds of people, who I'm pretty sure would have been  _grateful_  to have continued living. Dare I remind you of the window incident? Or how about you driving your 300 lbs of god weight into my back and almost killing me, oh, what, was it just this morning?"

 

Loki shifted away from him, leaving Tony's shoulder feeling cold, and somewhere inside of him empty. "I refuse to argue over this again. I would rather go than—"

 

"Don't go," Tony interrupted quickly. "Just ignore me, I'm a bitter old man who sort of stuck to a bitter old god for some extended period of time, and we both kind of hate each other, although I don't know why you hate me, i'm loads of fun as you might have noticed back in the hospital. But, then again, i've never been known for being chipper."

 

"No, I imagine you aren't," Loki mused, not moving close enough for Tony's liking. So, he closed the gap himself, shifting down enough to practically snuggle into Loki's chest. There was a pause that breathed hesitation before those long arms wrapped around him, and both let out an embarrassingly long, content sigh.

 

Why were things getting more complicated? What happened to the simplicity of mystery hospital visits and fruit baskets? Now it was all, 'we're connected by some shit that makes us sick if we're apart too long', and the unspoken promise of being sucked dry at some point. And not in the kinky way either, more like the unfriendly vampire, who may actually sparkle, but really only wants you for your body. Well, blood. Well, magic energy source. Whatever.

 

Tony closed his eyes, enjoying the small satisfaction he got from true darkness. There was always this slight gray haze at the edges of his vision that reminded him that he was, oh yes, blind. At least with his eyes closed, he could still pretend that any second now, he would open his eyes and see the pale gray walls, the table thing with that vase Pepper bought, maybe even Loki. He wondered if the god looked the same as the last time he saw him, sunken eyes, all beat up and sulky with his tail between his legs. The thought of seeing him like that now kind of made him sick, considering he now knew what they had sent Loki back to that day. Okay, so maybe it wasn't pity, but he felt _something_ about it, he wasn't that heartless.

 

_Wait, since when did I get a heart?_

 

Tony blinked at that thought, opening his eyes to more dark, and frowned to himself. Even in the hallway, tucked in the inner guts of the tower, the rain filled the silence with its never-ending roar. Tony listened to it, thankful to avoid further dissection of his so-called 'heart', and wondered if maybe someone should talk to Thor before they needed to build an Ark. 

 

"Hey," he muttered into the god's chest suddenly. 

 

"Mmh?" 

 

"Why don't you stay here for now, at least until we figure this out. It's easier than popping back and forth whenever one of us needs this... contact... thing." 

 

Those long fingers dug into his arm, and for a second Tony thought he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, as if lighting was about to strike him dead right then and there. But they relaxed a second later, running down his arm in a soothing motion. Loki chuckled softly, and once again, something about it made Tony sad. "I suppose I will, then. Only for as long as it necessary. I will amend my mistake before I am forced to suffer your company for too long." 

 

Tony nodded in agreement, mostly to himself because that little nagging voice was saying, " _liar_ ," again and he really didn't want to think about all the trouble they could get in if anyone found them curled up in the hallway like this. Or saw the way they kissed, or figured out that Tony kind of needed Loki, and not because of some contract.

 

"Yeah, just for _now_..." he said softly, and hated himself a little for letting Loki be the exception.

  



	8. Domestic

 

 

Tony really thought he couldn't possibly hate the god anymore than in that moment when he heard Fury say Coulson was down, but, surprisingly, he was wrong.

 

The second Loki disappeared and the sound of his own shower turning on reached his ears, he decided that he officially hated Loki's guts. Why, of all things, did he have to be _blind_? He could have lost his hands, which would have sucked, but at least—no, okay, hands would be a lot worse. But why did there have to be a naked, _literally_ godly body in hisshower when he couldn't even take the chance to spy on him?

 

"I hate you!" He called out, not caring if Loki heard him or not. He was answered with a laugh, which proved that Loki also had godly hearing, and still had a sense of humor under that prickly exterior. That was kind of nice, not being throw into some glass object when he said something that might be offending. Plus, Loki's laugh was the perfect combination of ridiculous giggle and devious cackle that he had had the pleasure of hearing at the hospital only a few times.

 

Tony, sadly, was currently still tucked into bed where Loki had deposited him almost an hour ago. Unlike the last time the god dropped him off here, he was a little more aware of his surroundings, and when Loki slipped into the bed with him, he actively made the choice to snuggle up against him. At least last time he could blame the lack of sleep and other disorientation crap; this time, it was all on him. He wasn't going to get conflicted about it, not, at least, until someone catches them or something.

 

Letting out a whiny, disgruntled sound, Tony settled back further into his pillows to relax and maybe strain his ears to catch every single drip of Loki's shower. He could tell the god had it on hot, there was always more pressure with the hot water. He could also pick out the sounds of larger droplets splashing in slight repetition, as if bouncing off something that was moving over and over again and _oh my god_ , was he doing what it damn well sounded like he's doing? No way, for one thing, why, for another, why not do it in here?

 

 _Wait wait wait, since when was_ that _on the table?_

 

Tony mentally smacked himself, and then physically pinched his arm which really hurt because he forgot he was covered in bruises thanks to said god who better not be jerking off in his shower. He went back to listening as hard as possible, which failed because now his heart racing in his ears. He needed to relax, jesus, this wasn't high school. He was too old for this shit, not that he had any problems getting hard over it, but getting excited over the sounds of water that may or may not imply the tall, lithe creature in his shower was enjoying his more carnal pleasures was a bit ridiculous.

 

_Fuck being blind. Fuck it. This is worse than smashing into tables, and I'm more than willing to admit that to myself, safely inside my head... where no one can judge me but myself and I will be ignoring any judgment, anyway, because he's making me..._

 

_Happy?_

 

_Shit._

 

With a frown, Tony realized the water was no longer running and heard the glass door creak open and close. His imagination tried to provide what he thought was under all those leathers he remembered Loki wearing back during the attack, but any reminder of that day ended with images of blood and pain and that killed his boner right there. He tapped his fingers in irritation and then buried his head under the blankets, purposely muffling his most reliable sense in some form of punishment.

 

_Don't get emotionally—or physically—attached to someone like this, he's not even a 'someone', he's an alien god thing that tried to kill you twice now._

 

He could almost head Pepper's voice in his head telling him, “Tony, no, this might be what you want, but it's not what you need.” Bad Tony, don't think of Loki like that just because there's touching involved, mandatory touching that keeps you from—oh yes—dying. For one thing, Loki hasn't kissed him since that one time, and all the charming reading and feeding ended when Tony found out who he was. So maybe Loki seemed relaxed around him, like, really relaxed, but that didn't mean they were suddenly 'okay'. He still got that tickle of fear in his chest when the god's hands came anywhere near his reactor, and let's not talk about windows, or space, or hell, anything related to the attack.

 

"What brought this on?" 

 

Tony twitched a little and automatically turned towards the voice that came on gentle feet. He only knew for sure where Loki was when the bed shifted on his left. "Brought what on?"

 

"Your sudden proclamation of hate."

 

"Just thought I'd remind you while you played around in my shower."

 

"You are too kind," Loki snarked, and the bed tipped as Loki stood again. "And I was not 'playing' in your shower, I was using it as you and your companion directed."

 

Tony sat up, turning his head a little to the side to direct his ear towards Loki's voice. It was a habit he was slowly picking up, only realizing that, yes, his hearing wasn't actually that great, and god dammit he relied on it %90 percent of the time now. Touch could only go so far. Tony's mouth tipped into a frown as he considered Loki's tone. He sounded... almost disappointed, and also like he was digging around in Tony's closet.

 

"I've never heard anyone call JARVIS my companion before," Tony said at last, "kudos to you for being the first. Also, I was joking, and also-also, what are you doing to my clothes?"

 

There was a pause in the shuffling of what Tony hoped wasn't his nice clothes before Loki replied softly, "We're you... joking?"

 

_Was I actually joking, or am I just being nice? Since when was hating Loki a joke? Since when was I nice?_

 

" _Possibly around the point where he actually took care of you, when others did not_ ," the voice provided cheerfully. Tony opened his mouth to tell it to shut up, only catching himself in time when he remembered—oh yeah, he wasn't alone with the voice in his head anymore. So, instead, he directed what he thought might be an honest response to Loki.

 

"Yes, It was a joke. I don't... _hate_ you. Or, at least, I don't hate-hate you." 

 

"Am I to revel in the knowledge that you do not dislike me twice over?" Loki questioned, sounding much closer again. The bed didn't so much dip this time, as nearly expelled him off of it when Loki threw himself on it, half landing on top of him.

 

He grunted, trying and failing to shove Loki's, apparently clothed, long legs of of his own. "Well, you're still a bastard, obviously, and you did kind of ruin my life, like, multiple times here. Plus, you ruined my tower, and that's just rude—oh—and you stabbed Coulson, which I can't really be angry about anymore since he's fine and running around like the living dead." Loki gave a simple, 'Hmm', snuggling in closer to him and wrapping one arm around him like a cat lounging over a branch. The ache in his chest, that had been building up slowly the longer Loki was away, lessened instantly, but he still felt oddly hot. Probably not from a fever, after all. "Speaking of," he added, his mind jumping from one aggravating figure to another. "It's still raining, which is sort of statistically low for this area, and I mean it's been  _pouring_  for days non-stop, so I'm thinking your brother needs to cheer up."

 

"He's—"

 

"Adopted brother, whatever." 

 

"It's not—"

 

"Your problem, I get it, I'm just putting it out there. Someone needs to do something, because if I build the Ark, I'm not leaving space for arachnids or the French." 

 

Loki jabbed a finger into his ribs, his aim impeccable, and Tony whimpered as yet another bruise protested. " I confirm my earlier analysis of your character: you are a bastard." 

 

"Perhaps I am, but it is of no concern of mine if my linage offends you, or what Thor does." 

 

"And the arachnids?" 

 

Loki snorted, and Tony gave him a winning smile for, well, winning even a small laugh out of the god. He was doing pretty well after this morning, and how fucking weird was it that he had spent more time with Loki today than anyone else? Maybe not that odd, anymore, considering the god visited him in the hospital when most of the others didn't.

 

"So, you staying here... how is this going to work, exactly?"

 

"I assumed you had a plan for this. Isn't that your singular talent?" Loki challenged, not shying away at all about touching Tony. Even the hand resting across his waist was rubbing tiny circles into his skin, just lifting his shirt enough to do so. It was extremely intimate, almost more than kissing each other, and Tony really, _really_ didn't want him to stop. 

 

 _A starving man will eat anything_ , he thought, and the nasty internal voice just scoffed at him.

 

"Shut up," he muttered, twitching when those delicate fingers pinched him. " _Ow_ , hey! I didn't mean you."

 

"I'm sure you meant the other person in the room, then."

 

"Okay now I mean you: shut up." He elbowed Loki in the ribs and tried to pull away. It was all in vain, because Loki had other plans for him. Plans that included him pulled flush against the god's chest, his face tucked into the crook of Loki's neck, their legs in a tangled mess. "... what's wrong?" he asked Loki softly, surprised at the tightness of those arms around him. It felt needy, like Loki was afraid he was offering way too much of himself, and needed to take something back.

 

_Jesus, Tony, deep much? Maybe he's just cold._

 

_He's always cold._

 

Loki was silent for a long time and the rain filled the lull in their conversation, the never ending roar of water drowning out the sounds of the city. He found himself wondering what time it was, and guessed it had to be at least 8 at night, by now. An entire day wasted doing nothing but almost dying, being bitched at, and now apparently snuggling was happening. At least the last one was nice, he could stand for a little more snuggling.

 

"Go to sleep, Stark."  

 

"Make me."

 

"Go to  _sleep_." 

 

"I'm not t-t—" God dammit, of course he yawned. "Fuck it, fine. I guess I'm sleeping with you now, too. Anything else I should know, ' _roommate'_?" 

 

"I turn into a wolf at night to roam the realm and eat small children." 

 

"Mmm... okay... just don't get blood on my sheets." 

 

Loki laughed again, and Tony gave himself another point for making that happen before he dozed off in the god's arms.

* * *

 

It was two days later, by his count, that the mortal's team of fools finally attempted make contact with him again. Loki was accompanying him to the living room for a chance to test out Stark's newly invented device. Watching him work on it in his small en suite work shop was something both stunning and slightly terrifying. As they just reached the end of the hallway, a gentle  _ping_  sounded throughout the room and the man beside him stopped, shifting closer to Loki.

 

The Voice said, "sir, that was not a proximity warning, but the elevator."

 

"The ele—shit! Loki, poof! Be gone! Hide!" 

 

"Stark, I cannot leave—"

 

"HIDE!" He shouted, shoving Loki away from him and running a quick hand through his hair. Loki scowled, and slinked his way to bedroom, leaving the door open just enough to listen in. Gone were the two days of glorious peace, and only one fight between them. Granted, it was not of the same caliber as their last fight, but a small amount of damage was inflicted on each of their bodies, and perhaps, their dignity. He hated to admit it, but Stark threw a devilishly sharp kick to the stomach and some rather nasty barbs when he was cornered. He also tended to bite like some rabid animal, which is why the fight ended with Loki laughing rather than snapping his neck. His pet mortal was somehow endearing when hanging from his wrist by his teeth. 

 

Loki chuckled to himself and peered through the crack in the door, unable to see much down the hallway. Voices rose, however, and Loki was hit by a sudden wave of pity for Stark. He know those tones, those argumentative, judgmental words that struck you somewhere deep inside. He had grown so used to hearing them directed at himself, he found himself schooling his features before he realized it.

 

"You said you _spoke_ to him!" 

 

"I said he visited me weeks ago, why does this mean I'm supposed to know where he is _now_? What do you think I am, the _God Whisperer_?" 

 

"Tony, is it possible for you to take something seriously for ten seconds?!" 

 

"No, and you yelling in my face is really helping, no really, I suddenly know where Thor is. It's a miracle!" 

 

Loki snorted and leaned out a little more, just in time to hear the sound of a fist hitting flesh. He tensed, eyes narrowing as he readied himself to storm out there and rip the throat out of whoever just hit his mortal.

 

' _His_ '  _mortal? Oh, by the Norns,_ **no** _. He is not mine, he is a tool, a vessel, nothing more._

 

"Stark,” the angry man continued, “if you don't start helping out with this, I'm going to—"

 

"What?" Stark cut off, his voice venomous, "send me back to the labs in SHEILD, just like you did the last time you wanted something? You really think it's smart to threatenme in my own home, Rogers?" 

 

There was a rain-filled pause that Loki used to creep closer to the living room, masking his presence as much as his feeble magic would allow before peering around the corner. The two men were standing in the middle of the room, Stark with his back to him, and the Captain's face looking down at him, red with anger. Loki stared at him, and for a moment wondered why this so-called hero held so much hatred for Stark. No, perhaps there was something else in the Captain's expression, something desperate around his eyes. If he cared what the man desired so much he would resort to hitting Stark, he would study him more. But as it was, he didn't care all that much, and he _had_ hit his—Stark.

 

"Tony...” He tried again, and the entirety of Stark's body went still at the change of names, “we're just trying to help you and figure this mess out with Loki and Thor. Why are you being so difficult about it? We aren't enemies, we're on the same side, for heavens sake."

 

"No, we aren't," Stark replied darkly, surprising both Rogers and Loki. He narrowed his eyes at the tense, little back of the inventor and wondered just what he meant those words. Was he on his own side, just as Loki always was, or perhaps he was considering aligning himself with Loki? He bit his lip, shaking his head to dislodge that thought. That was impossible, and unnecessary. He didn't need the mortal for more than a conduit, certainly no need for any loyalties cast. 

 

Rogers was speaking again, his voice no longer heated, but cold,"—and I'm not even going to ask, anymore. You can sit up here and be miserable by yourself, but there's no need to drag the rest of the team down."

 

"Not much of a team to drag down, actually, so please, run along. Some of us have work to do that doesn't involve stalking our crush." 

 

That sent Rogers off choking and sputtering quite nicely, and Loki could not help but snort. "I'm n-not...! Who are you—?! What?!" 

 

"Oh don't even pretend, it's appalling. I don't know where your big, blonde beef-cake is, but when I find out, I'll let you know. So stop crawling up my ass for five seconds and let me do my thing, alone and miserable by myself. Okay? I'll have JARVIS send you the location." Stark made a shooing motion with his hands, sending the blushing, still stuttering Captain towards the elevator. "Out, go, shoo, go fantasize about old English, or something." 

 

"Are you implying I'm a-attracted to—"

 

"I'm implying _get out,_ " he said, and shoved the man into the elevator successfully. Stark gave a little wave as the doors shut, cutting off any further arguments with another pleasant ' _ping_ '. 

 

Loki moved to step forward, but froze when he saw the once confident figure hunch over suddenly and run his hands through his hair. Was he in pain, Loki wondered, still watching him carefully from around the corner. They hadn't been separated that long, and Loki couldn't feel any of his scars opening up just yet. Perhaps the strike to his face had harmed him more than he originally let on. Loki crept closer, feeling an odd prang of concern for the mortal who stood stock still with his hands curled into fists in his hair. 

 

"Stark?" 

 

"Gaaahhahahahiii there. You're a fucking ninja, even with all that hight of yours." 

 

"I do not understand the term you use, but I am rather light on my feet."

 

Stark gave him a strange look and let his arms drop to his sides, his voice sounding oddly defeated. "I guess you heard all that, huh?" 

 

"Yes, I came out when I heard him strike you."

 

"Strike...? What?" He blinked at him, staring blindly past his shoulder until a bubble of startled laughter burst forth from his lips. "Oh man, no, Loki, he didn't hit me, that was the _Fist of Freedom_ smacking his _Palm of Patriotism_ like a frustrated old man." He demonstrated loudly, making a sulky face before he burst out laughing. "Steve would never hit me, no matter how much I piss him off. He knows I would go full Wrath of Kahn on his ass, plus he liked my daddy so there's some shit about 'honor' and 'duty' there that lets me push all his buttons without him resorting to violence." He flashed a sharp, toothy grin. "I might, just might, abuse that little fact about him." 

 

Loki let out a breath he had not been aware of holding, and strode forward, pulling him firmly against him without another word. There was hesitation in the hands that slowly creeped around and clutched at his back, and Loki ground together as the usual internal battle roared and grated against his insides. 

 

He _was_ glad that Stark had not been hurt, but what, in all the nine realms, was he  _doing_? Why such relief for something so small as a little pain inflicted on the useless vessel when it was such a pointless thing to feel upset about? A mere few weeks of his company at the house of healing, and the mortal was  _his_? Yes, perhaps he had found some small amount pleasure in the anonymity that granted him leeway with the mortal back then. He truly and honestly enjoyed that time, reading the stories told by mortals, simply enjoying the pleasure of intelligent conversation. The hand feeding, well, he had no excuse for that. It just happened, and he refused to think of it any further. 

 

But now? Now he was comforting the man in his arms, just as he had been for the past few days. Comforting and being comforted, he should say, as any affectionate gestures towards him have been gratefully welcomed. Perhaps that was the source of his sudden possessiveness of the man, fear of losing that comfort to the hands of Stark's friends. They were, after all, supposed to be much closer to him than he was.

 

Loki pressed his face into the inventor's neck and let out a frustrated sigh. "This has to be the work of the contract, some sort of bond required to fulfill its requirements." 

 

"What has to be the work of the contract?" The man asked. "Hugging? I can manage more hugging, if you can. Requirement or not." 

 

"Hugging, touching, worrying..." he dug his face in deeper, his voice growing horse. "I do not typically worry, Stark. I never spare the emotion required for such a thing. Just what _are_ you doing to me?" 

 

"To you?" Stark huffed, tapping his fingers against Loki's back. "I'm not doing anything, Mr. Contract-To-Escape-Gone-Wrong. I'm not going to deny what little amount of... relief I'm getting from this, because I'm selfish, and it's nice. Okay? I'll admit that much and if you rub it in my face i'm going to bite you again."

 

"Surely you have other arms you could crawl to," Loki reminded hesitantly, a strange hitch in his chest making him squeeze his eyes tighter closed.

 

"As you so kindly pointed out the other day, no one wants to be around pitiful old me." He paused, tension seeping back into his short frame. "They don't like being faced with with this, and I personally don't have anything to offer them at this point. Besides, they're the ones who bullied me into the situation in the first place, and I'm the one who lost everything thanks to that. I'm bitter, and antisocial, and I bump into shit. Why would anyone to be anywhere near me?" 

 

"I am near you, now," Loki whispered. 

 

"Yeah... now you see why I'm not freaking out about this and calling Thor up on his hammer."

 

"Why? Why have you hidden me, allowed me to even touch you after I... after everything that has passed?" 

 

The man shifted back and tilted his head as if to look at him, a small frown forming when he seemed to catch himself, remembering too late his lack of sight. "For one thing, if I let go of you, I kind of die horribly, and for another, I'm a touchy kind of person.” He paused, brow pinching together suddenly. “Are you sorry for anything, I mean, ever? Or is that another emotion you 'do not do?'" He added quickly, "mind you, I'm not judging you on that front, I don't do a lot of emotions, either, and 'apologetic' is really low on my list of ones I sometimes pull out of the bag." 

 

Loki stared at him, unsure to the extent of which he should be honest. He had been strangely forthcoming with him since the beginning, nary a lie told. Even when Stark found out his identity, his mouth formed a lie, and a truth came out instead. The bond, he decided, it had to be. 

 

“ _More excuses?_ ”

 

 _Silence,_ Loki ordered, and cleared his throat. "I find myself regretting some things, and I may not apologize for them simply because the regret is for myself, or of myself, rather than others."

 

"So you—"

 

"Let me finish," he requested and let his eyes fall closed. He imagined that this was Stark's world now, a world of nothing but sounds and touches. It felt small in there, claustrophobic, empty, and even Stark's breath against his neck was overwhelming. With his eyes closed, his ears picked up the small hitch in the man's breathing he never noticed before. As if every breath pained him, and perhaps it did, since the device in his chest surely rested heavily inside him.

 

  _Regret, yes, he felt it now._

 

"I do not regret what I did to your people, I do not regret my attempt at a throne that you told me did not exist. I  _do_  regret not realizing you were correct, or that failure was not the worst of my troubles. I regret not fighting harder for myself, rather than Him and his army." He opened his eyes to study the carefully blank face before him. The man had the best mask he had ever seen on any mortal, which made him smile in a small wonder of how alike they could be at times. His hand lifted, fingers tracing Stark's brow and following the lines of scars around his eyes. It was like a flame exploding forth from each pale orb, spreading out in tendrils of white, raised flesh. For something so horrible, it was beautiful, and Loki's heart ached at the familiarity of that feeling. "I regret _this_." 

 

"You do?" Stark spoke softly, surprise breaking through his shuttered expression briefly. "You don't feel bad about killing hundreds of people, but blind one guy and you actually feel something about it? Why, Loki? I never meant anything to you, I never had the time to, or the means to, and god, we're both so fucking annoying sometimes."

 

Loki snickered, and trailed his fingers down to caress the start of his messy beard. “Because you are brilliant, and even when we fought against one another, there was no mistaking that. You are intelligent, and crafty, and there is something beautiful and terrible about you that I find fascinating." 

 

Stark let out a choked sound, a charming flush crawling up his neck to his cheeks. "Beautiful?! Please, I can't even... beautiful, really?" 

 

"You are," Loki insisted, cupping his face now and allowing the man to press against his hand like an animal wishing to be pet. "How could I not regret breaking such a thing?"

 

"Loki... you're not answering my question. I'm asking you _why_ you care, why you give a shit that i'm broken at all. Why the fuck does someone like you, a crazy ass god who made it pretty clear we, 'mere mortals', were ants, care even the smallest bit about me? And dare I mention the fact that we were never friends, at least, when I knew you as Loki because I would say I was getting to be pretty good friends with random Brit visitor number one. We didn't know each other, we didn't _like_ each other, in fact, we hated one another until this contract started and that's not... that's not good. It feels kind of bad." 

 

Loki pushed himself away from him, earning a startled grunt from the man as he stumbled back. He didn't care, though, because he didn't  _care_. This fool was twisting his words to suit a framework that did not exist. There was no such emotion as 'caring', only some small worry for the mortal, something that clearly drew from the contract's need for their continued, healthy existence. 

 

"It is, undoubtably due to the bond, and nothing more,” he snapped, “I do not care about you, Stark, and I care even less if you are uncomfortable with any of this. My aim is the same as it was when I arrived, find my magic, break the contract, and leave for wretched realm for good." 

 

Stark, who's expression had morphed into neutral again, let out a flat laugh. "You keep doing this, and every time it gets less convincing." 

 

"Doing what?"

 

"Lying."

 

"You—" Loki snarled, his teeth baring at him as he advanced upon him just as he did a few days before. But, before he could inflict the damages he oh-so wished to, Stark raised his hands up and backed away with a strange grin. "Whoa there, how about we don't fight, and say we did? You won, but I fought bravely and earned a harmless yet attractive wound that will grant me the affection of all the ladies. Or gents," he added with a wider grin. 

 

Loki eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks, unable to believe that once again the man had changed the mood with a few simple words. Wait, was he  _flirting_  with him? He quickly ran his eyes over the mortal, not displeased with what he saw, but also unsure of when the sight of him became something more than an annoyance. All the need for contact aside, he had never thought the man attractive, or, rather, he had never lingered on such thoughts before now. There had never been the time or place, and there still wasn't, he should not, he cannot...

 

"Loki?" Starks voice cracked a little, and Loki looked up to see Stark reaching out to his left a little, his face sad and slightly panicked. "Did you leave?"

 

Loki frowned, and rasped in reply, "No, I fear you are to be burdened with me for the foreseeable future."

 

The sadness was gone in a second, and Stark pulled out his newest invention, waving it in the air at Loki with a grin. "Okay, then we stop this song and dance and try out my new device, since hugging seems to be off the table right now and I kind of want to stop smashing into things since _someone_ lost my walking stick."

 

Loki sneered, even if Stark could not see it, and crossed his arms across his chest. The stick was not lost, Loki simply broke and disposed of it during their last argument. It was not because he craved the way the man leaned against him when they moved from room to room, he only enjoyed the fact that Stark needed him more than ever. He was relying on him completely, just as Loki had hoped he would. Full trust was in the imminent future, and surely by then Loki could compete his plan and be well on his way away from this place.

 

"Okaaaay, by your silence I'm saying that's a 'yes' to the test and I'm turning it on... right... _now_." He clicked the device on, and in front of him a blue grid lit up on the floor. A strap wrapped around his wrist, and he gave the room a quick pass over with the grid with a serious expression. "Alright, sensors are working, there's what I think is a couch behind you, and holy shit you're taller than I remember."

 

Loki's eyes widened, staring at the man in disbelief. How could so small a thing cure his eyesight without effecting his eyes? "You... you can see me?"

 

"Uh, no," Stark replied, shining the blue light over him before walking closer. "This just lets me know where stuff is. It's not like I suddenly got my eyes back or anything." 

 

Loki forgot all promises of not touching Stark, and slid his hands around his waist to bring him closer. That earned him a chuckle when Stark clicked off the invention and tucked it away again, turning all his focus to Loki. "So, I take it you're not too pissed at me if we're back to the hugging."

 

"I am still displeased with you." 

 

"Not enough to stop you from doing this," he reminded, wrapping his own arms around Loki, who wanted to scowl and push away from the man as soon as he was reminded. He did not need this, _please_ , he begged the bond, all he needed was to take more of his essence to find a way to break the damned contract. He simply needed more blood and a little strength. But the voice in the back of his head was laughing again, and rebelling against the easier of the two desires suddenly held little appeal. It was an easy thing to desire affection easy to hold him in his arms, easy to sleep, easier to want him to be _his_.

 

"Stark, why can they not heal your eyes?" He questioned, trying to keep his tone light, but failing to hide his curiosity. 

 

"I would need some sort of replacement, and the surgery success rates are not that high, plus, I lost my sight to a strange chemical exposition that we now know was also magical. I have no idea what will happen if I try to do anything to them, I'll probably explode too."

 

Loki hummed, feigning little interest. But internally, his mind was racing with ideas, plans, possibilities he would have never considered, even a week before. He knew, somewhere deep down and buried under a nice layer of ice, something was stirring in him that was more than just a protective connection to the conduit of his magic. Something that not only told him to remain right where he was, wrapped up in Stark's arm, but wanted more time to do so. Something that worried, and ached, and  _cared_. 

 

Somewhere between denying it all and wrapping his arms tighter around the now babbling inventor, Loki had started to make a new plan.

  



	9. Expedite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's waking up to some fun times, Loki's off causing a ruckus, and Tony's wrong, again, about what Loki's doing.

 

 

 

 

That morning, Tony woke to the now-usual sounds of rain drowning the city, leaned over the edge of the bed, and vomited.

 

The vomiting was not usual, but Tony had come to expect it as a condition of his new and exciting ailment. Well, he expected it when a certain someone wasn't around, anyway.

 

"I-I take it.. his godliness stepped... out?" He questioned JARVIS, once his body had stopped trying to eject his entire digestive system on to his carpet. He really needed a new angle for this whole blind thing. The grid system was just not good enough, or remotely practical. Who had time to slip the mini-projector on, flip the switch, let it load the room data, and _then_  run to the bathroom to vomit?

 

Not him, that's who.

 

JARVIS' reply came after his usual morning news and weather announcement,  _rain with a chance of rain._   _Perhaps some rain later on in the evening._

 

"Mr. Laufesyon departed ten minutes ago, sir. Shall I administer the DPTA?"

 

"'Laufeyson', huh?" Tony mused, forcing himself to sit up against the headboard while trying not to vomit again. "I guess that explains the whole 'adopted' thing right there. Something he apparently explained to you and not me, which is unfair considering  _i'm_  his almighty 'conduit' and you're just my AI, and no, i'll just grab some Iodine when I need it, he shouldn't be gone too long." 

 

At least, he  _hoped_  that was the case and this wasn't 'the Time', as in, the Time for loki to break the bond and leave Tony to die, blind and alone, or whatever. Because that would be a whole new level of suck on top of his morning purge.

 

It wasn't as though the god's comings and goings was something new. Loki had  left once a few days ago and came back within minutes after his departure without an explanation or an apology, as usual. At least that time, he had a warning. So those few minutes were spent, on Tony's part, sitting on the couch trying not to panic because the only thing keeping him alive was a murdering psychopath who gave really good hugs and was way too fucking good at chess, oh, and happened to not  _be_  there at the moment so death  _could_  be imminent. But he was  _fine_ , he was doing just great. Sure.

 

Then there was the fact that being alone seemed to be the perfect time for his brain to kick into overdrive and kindly remind him of things he was trying not to think too hard about. Things he could have avoided by working himself to death in his workshop, drinking thousands of cups of coffee, or maybe a thousand tumblers of whiskey, all the while building a new suit. You know, the usual Tony Stark escapism. 

 

But, no, the new Tony Stark was stuck with thinking instead of tinkering. Thinking about things like  _the fact that the only thing keeping him alive was a murdering psychopath who gave really good hugs and was way too fucking good at chess_ , _oh, kisses too and fuck, no, please don't go there._

 

Oh, wait, there was also that thing where Loki nearly killed him twice, intentionally, and now they sleep together in the same bed. Not  _together_  together, but, shit, Tony's thought about that too, to make things worse.

 

He's also thought about how Loki still talks down to him like he's some kind of stupid pet, even when Tony's the one being all brilliant and stuff, like all the damn time. 

 

Because he's blind, not stupid.

 

But Loki's got a god complex. Which, well, is a given, but there's also just that level of snobbery that Tony never managed to master and therefor had more trouble counteracting with his patented sarcastic wit. Loki just had too many big, superfluous—ooh, there's one—words in his arsenal. It didn't matter how many times Howard tried to get Tony to speak to the public in 'Pompous English', aka, how to speak stuck-up suck-up, Tony couldn't stop himself from slipping into basic snark.

 

And that thought lead to another one about Loki, and yes, Loki had taken over his mind and maybe his body, Tony could admit it it to himself. In private. With no one listening.

 

Because even with the snobbery and the violence and the murdering of people Tony kind of actually cared about—well, un-murder,  _Coulson lives_ —the fact of the matter was: being wrapped up in bed with Loki felt like the safest place in the world for him right now. Jesus, how easily  _that_  could go bad in a split second. Like, rip his arc reactor from his chest, hold it aloft and laugh madly like some crazy guy from an Indiana Jones movie kind of bad.

 

By the time Loki came back, which, according to JARVIS, was only three minutes later, Tony had worked himself into a nice panic attack and had ended up sprawled on the floor gasping like a fish while clinging on to a couch cushion he had apparently grabbed on his way down.

 

The god had laughed. 

 

Tony had hit him with said pillow.

 

 

This time, however, there was no warning, with ten minutes already gone by, and Tony was starting to feel like his insides were rotting, again. Which was gross. Just gross.

 

"We really... really should work on t-tracking him..." 

 

"Who?" 

 

Tony twitched, probably cracked his skull against the headboard, and smoothly replied, "Whaaffucknobody," while rubbing his poor head.

 

Oh yeah, totally smooth. Not that it was his fault, or anything. Tony had expected any variation of a posh British drawl in response, not Average American  _Chicken_.

 

"Clint," he hissed, " how'd you get in here?"

 

"It's not exactly Fort Knox, you know," Clint remarked dryly, his voice drawing closer until there was an unmistakable  _squish_.

 

"Aww, no, that's disgusting, Tony. Are you sick or drunk? I'm not cleaning that up." 

 

It seems the archer had discovered his vomit-fest 2000, which made Tony grin. All' fair. 

 

"M'fine," he lied, waving it off as though he hadn't just vomited up part of his soul. He knew it must look bad, if the smell was any inclination. "What do you want?" 

 

"'Fine' people don't vomit up their intestines up on their floors, and it's another group meeting. Mandatory, no bribery offered this time." 

 

"Uh huh," he scoffed, pulling the blankets closer around him as the first set of chills washed over him. He was definitely crashing.  "Sick, can't go." 

 

"I'll get Banner up here—"

 

"No!" He snapped, wincing when his head protested at all even the smallest movement. 

 

"Look, just leave me alone. You guys don't n-need me in your Super Secret Boy Band anymore. Besides, Thor's back, you're like a trio of Blonds, now. Just k-kick out Natasha and Bruce and go to some German raves." 

 

After a long pause, Clint muttered a slow, "okaaaaay," and added, "Cap says it's important." 

 

"Cap thinks a lot of things are i-important. Only... 10% of them actually a-ngh—excuse me—are." 

 

Clint scoffed, which wasn't a disagreement, and went into silent mode, which meant Tony had to turn his head so he could hear better-ish. He did not appreciate being snuck up on, especially when he was technically radioactive. 

 

Something did start crinkling and rattling, and Tony immersed himself in the fun game of guessing what the fuck Clint had and  _it better not be dates,_ which was thrilling and maybe he was really starting to fade because he had no idea how much time had passed before something cool brushed against his forehead. 

 

"Don't," he grunted, jerking away from the obtrusive, albeit, pleasantly cool hand. His skull met with the headboard again. He  hissed some of his best German curses.

 

"Wow, you really  _are_  sick, huh? Why are you hiding up here like a hermit when Bruce would bend over backwards to help you? Are you  _trying_  to die?" 

 

Tony snorted, because maybe he _was,_ but not like this, and what the fuck was Loki up to, anyway? It's not like he had any friends to visit out there, Tony was technically the only thing he had that was remotely close to a friend. So what was he...

 

_Oh, right, breaking the contract._

_Letting me die of radiation poisoning._

_That's... Disappointing._

 

Then again, it wasn't all that surprising that Loki would try everything in his, currently feeble, power to get away from him. He had made it perfectly clear—only after the whole stranger-almost-friend thing failed—that he only needed Tony until his full magic-mojo was returned from some planet through Tony. Which, to be honest, sounded like it might kill him, anyway. Plus, why the hell would Loki  _want_  to stay on Earth, hiding in Tony's penthouse from a world that hated him with some useless, unwanted, blind bastard? The god didn't even need him outside of this stupid bond thingy. 

 

Actually,  _no one_  needed him. 

 

"Tony..." 

 

He slipped into an easy smile and parroted in the archer's 'serious' voice, "Clint..." 

 

"Go see Bruce or I'll force feed you dates." 

 

"I'll bite your fingers off if you come anywhere near my mouth with those things," he warned, then added with a grimace, "or maybe I'll vomit on you. Probably both. Not necessarily in that order, either. You might get your own fingers regurgitated—"

 

"Nope, thanks for that beautiful mental image, I'm just going to go kill myself now," Clint groaned and Tony nearly grinned as he heard the archer shift and crinkle the bag. A moment later, there was that same clink of something by the door, and silence. A bag of drinks, maybe? That was the only thing Tony could imagine making all that noise. 

 

_If it's a bag of dates, I'll have Loki murder him in his sleep._

 

Suddenly, Clint called out,"I'm running away from you and your puke, and leaving this here for now. Come find it when you're busy not joining our super important meeting about some villain dude and Thor. Oh, and JARVIS?" 

 

"Sir?" 

 

"Let Bruce know if Tony's dying." 

 

"Uh, no," Tony denied, shaking his head solemnly. "That's not how it works. I order JARVIS around and  _I_  decide who he can tell if i'm dying or not."

 

"You really  _are_  suicidal," Clint scoffed, swinging whatever that was around the handle.

 

_You have no idea._

 

"I'm fine," he lied once again, trying his winning smile in hopes of convincing the hovering archer to get out of his penthouse before Loki returned. "Now go away before I pull a projectile-exorcist moment on you. You know how good my aim is, blind or not."

 

"Unfortunately I do," the archer admitted. "If you ever consider taking up a sport, I'm game for some blind-man darts. To make it fair, I'll wear a blind fold and throw from behind my shoulder and upside down." 

 

Tony snort-coughed something that may have been, "show-off,"  and smiled innocently before adding, "You'd just cheat, so no way in hell. If I want to lose to the house, I'll take up gambling." 

 

"You would cheat too! Don't even pretend."

 

"Yeah," he agreed with a bright smile, "but I cheat  _better,_ and I'm _blind_. You're painfully obvious, it's like playing with an obnoxious kid." 

 

"Dates."

 

"Vomit," drawled Tony.

 

"And that's my cue to leave," Clint chimed, "Feel better, you look like shit." 

 

"You know, i'm  feeling better just thinking about this projectile—"

 

"Okay, okay. Fuck it, you're a bastard, even when your dying. You no longer have my sympathy, old man." 

 

The door swung closed with a gentle snap, providing Tony with the return of his much needed privacy. He had to admit, if he got anything out of that ridiculous conversation, it was curiosity about the mystery bag and a small warm feeling in his chest because, hey, Clint kind of cared about him. Then again, maybe that warm feeling was his organs melting, because he also remembered that it had been ten minutes ago when Loki left about ten minutes ago, and maybe  _now_  he needed a full dose of meds. 

 

"JARVIS, can you dose me? Iodine isn't going to cut it anymore and I kind of can't feel my fingers." 

 

"As you wish, sir," the AI replied, and the woosh of the doors and windows sealing around him was his only warning before the vents turned on and he smelled it. The acidic tang of a highly concentrated air-born DPTA formula that he had modified for himself—quite astonishingly in his lab by touch and maybe a little help from Loki. But it was working, clearly, because as It flooded the room, Tony took five long, deep breaths that didn't hurt as much or feel as wet, and leaned back to relax at last.

 

"Diagnostic?"

 

"It appears the medication had little to no effect on the internal bleeding. It seems to be simply dampening the symptoms to a manageable level, as it does when faced with such high levels of radiation. I would say you are currently at 8 GY, sir." 

 

Tony ran a shaking hand down his face and snapped, "For fuck's sake! Where  _is_  he!?" 

 

" _Who_?" 

 

This time, it  _was_  the British drawl Tony had come to expect, and he still jumped.

 

"You, you asshole," he fumed, pulling the blankets away and holding out his arms towards where he assumed Loki was. Angry or not, he needed the bastard to fix this, now. "Did you just forget that I die if you go away for too long? Or was that your intention, because all I can say is:  _rude_."

 

There was an odd amount of shuffling, and the acrid smell of vomit was gone suddenly. Apparently Loki was feeling magiced up enough to clean up his mess. How  _nice_  for him.

 

"I had not forgotten," Loki rasped from near by. "I, myself, felt the pain of our separation. I would not wish that upon you unless strictly necessary, I swear."

 

"Strictly nec... for what?!" Tony snarled, dropping his proffered hands. "Wait,  _You_  felt it?" 

 

Tony frowned, wondering why Loki hadn't come right to him as he usually did before realizing why the god wasn't touching him. "Oh  _shit_ , it's your hands." 

 

"Yes."

 

"Then come here already, doesn't it heal when we touch? Stop hovering and come fix us." 

 

For a moment, Tony was pretty damn sure he was going to be ignored, which was bad for him— _them_ , so loki better hurry the fuck up. The sooner they hugged it out, purely for health reasons, the better.

 

After a lengthy pause and just before Tony opened his mouth to complain, the bed dipped and instead of those typical cold fingers against his forehead, he recognized the feeling of Loki's nose nuzzling against him. It was one of those intimate things they didn't do unless they were half asleep and neither of them cared enough to think about what exactly they were doing. It was also something they probably  _shouldn't_  do, but fuck it, it was nice, and Tony was burning up right now, anyway.

 

"Mmh... Look Ma, no hands," Tony chuckled, nosing his way down to Loki's neck to take in a nice, deep breath. He could still smell the lingering scent of the medication in the air, but Loki's smell was slowly overpowering it. He smelled almost like heat and maybe like something sweet burning. Weird, appropriately so, but also oddly claiming. Like someone was baking cookies in the kitchen and fucked up, filling the house with a confusing mix of failure and delicious chocolate chip cookies. Charming, it was how Tony imagined charming would smell.

 

Tony frowned into Loki's neck, wondering where the fuck  _that_  imagery came from. No one ever baked in his kitchen, not even as a kid. Cookies came from the store or bakery and Loki was far from charming. Okay, that was a lie. Loki could be charming when he wasn't tossing you through glass objects, and now he wanted cookies.

 

Tony's abused stomach reminded him that, no, he did  _not_  want cookies right now so calm down and think about something else.

 

Having apparently heard said stomach rumble, Loki huffed, "You're insufferable," with an odd sort of fondness. His voice was what dragged Tony back from his homey little delusions, settling him back into the reality of a water-logged city of New York and his villain snuggle buddy. Right,  _reality_.

 

"I'm sure you'll manage suffering me a little longer," he groused, burying his face in deeper. His stomach gurgled, and he whispered, "unless I vomit on you." 

 

"I  _will_  kill you."

 

"You have no hands."

 

"I can kill you without my hands," Loki warned venomously, but with just enough amusement to keep Tony from actually worrying. Like maybe he  _won't_  kill him without his hands, but, you know, he could if he wanted to.

 

"Love you too," Tony muttered to himself and, because throwing up your organs is exhausting, completely missed the way Loki tensed up in his arms and said nothing as he started to doze off.

 

* * *

 

 

It was not entirely futile, Loki's trip out into the world. Perhaps not worth the excruciating pain of having his hands crushed by the ghosts of those accursed metal plates, but rewarding all the same.

 

He had started his journey with a visit to where it all started, the hospital where he and Stark met for the first time. Or rather, what  _felt_  like the first time. The man's blindness had given him an opportunity none other had offered in many years.

 

Freedom to be himself, with no blanket judgments or any bias. Loki was allowed to be Stark's Mystery 'Brit'—whatever that meant—and did not have to conform to any unsavory preconceptions. He found himself enjoying his days spent in a place he thought he would hate forever. 

 

But he did not hate it here on Midgard, hidden away in the very tower he once sought to destroy, passing the hours with a man he once saw as just another ant. Their arguments, yes, still petty and unnecessary, had changed in the past few days. Something had shifted between them, and he was not yet sure how he felt about that. Change did not come to him easily, but he was never one to deny himself what he wanted. He would very well not be Loki, if he did  _that_.

 

He could not help but think, whilst gathering supplies from unknowing doctors, that the issue was thus: His and Stark's relationship—if one would call it that—was balanced ever so carefully on a knife's edge. One word here, one word there, and everything fell apart. As wonderfully chaotic and very  _Loki_  as that all was, he found himself wanting it to stay balanced rather than topple over into another mess, like the one that drew them together. He found himself wishing again, like he did back in his younger years. Wishing to be stronger, wishing Odin would see his accomplishments and not just his failures, wishing for Thor to stop using him to manipulate others, wishing Thor would no longer manipulate him. But wishing never got him anywhere but locked away in a cell with nothing left but his last shreds of dignity, broken bones, and silence. 

 

And yet...

 

 

Perhaps just this one last time, he would wish for his plans to work out. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him here, something a little better than running from realm to realm like the hunted. It didn't have to be the tower, or New York City, even. It could be anywhere on Midgard, as long as he had his magic back and Stark... Ah, but Stark was slowly becoming one of those things he felt he needed. Once he broke the bond, hopefully by a simple severing spell with the correct ingredients this time, they should be free to come and go as they wish. No more pain, no more sickness, and perhaps a chance to see if there is something more between them other than this bond.

 

Once he had found all he needed from the hospital, Loki had left to procure the last few things he needed for the ritual, and found them in an open marketplace some ways away from the tower.

 

Equipped with only his pockets and a backpack, he began his journey towards the stalls. Ripples began to disrupt his disguise as soon as he stepped into the fray, and it soon fell away, leaving him exposed. He needn't have worried, though, It appeared to be a simple matter of flipping the hood of his 'Stark Industries' jacket up, and keeping his face down. If anyone noticed that their would-be ruler was walking the streets and stealing spices, no one said a thing. 

 

It was going well, until his magic continued to fail him. Just as he attempted to collect some sort of fascinating root from one stall, he felt the first twinge in his fingers. He dropped the root, and had to duck back into the crowd when the stall owner narrowed his eyes at him. 

 

The pain in his hands was returning much too quickly, which begged the question, why? 

 

Why was the allotted distance between him and St—the conduit seeming to decrease? Would he soon be limited to a single room with Stark, his hands breaking with only one small step away?

 

Loki scowled at the mortal's swarming around him, tempted to lash out in his irritation. He was in pain, trapped, and this was all their fault. Somewhat. Anyway, a bout of chaos would do him wonders, even a small one.

 

His scowl tipped into a smirk, as he stepped through the crowd of people as easily as he would with his magic in hand. The ache was steadily frowning stronger, and soon there would be blood and broken bone, so he had to act quickly.

 

His target: the hat stall, who's proprietor had yelled obscene things at him when Loki paused to touch what seemed to be a fur hat. Not only had it been fake—some disgusting plastic formed to look like fur—but the man's attitude had left little to be desired. Unless one desired to gut him like a fish.

 

Loki's smile widened. 

 

And, keeping his head down, he snuck his way behind the stall, wedging himself between the one selling some sort of meat and the target's back. His magic was weak at its best these days, but surely he could... just... ah,  _yes_.

 

Hats flew into the air as a gust of wind swooped down the street. The fake fur flying particularly high while the rest were sent scattering and tumbling past startled mortals. 

 

Loki snickered, sending another gust after the man as he scrambled to collect his precious merchandise. It turned into a full blown cackle when the man went tumbling after the hats. 

 

"And that, you pathetic ape, is your comeuppance,"he sneered, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

 

That was when a snapping sound filled the air, soon followed by the unpleasant feeling of skin being stretched, bone being crushed, muscles torn, and tendons ripped apart. It took all he had not to scream, and even more so to send himself back to the tower.

 

  
_Never again,_ he thought, catching himself on the doorframe with a shoulder. _Never shall I go that far again._

 

He nearly smiled when the first waves of relief washed over him, the mere presence of the mortal man, still tucked in bed, enough to ease some of his suffering. There was vomit on the floor, the air was stale with a hint of something medicinal, and Loki made note of the sickly gray color of Stark's face. He looked terrible, and he couldn't imagine he looked much better. Not that Stark could see to comment on such, thankfully.

 

Loki was pleased to see Stark reach out for him, his relief nearly palpable, and after Loki finally graced him with his presence and crawled into the bed, he remembered why he left in the first place.

 

"Stark..." He whispered, not willing to bring himself to answer _that_ little gem the man had just dropped on him.

 

"Mmhh? What happened to sleeping?" The man asked groggily. "I thought we were sleeping." 

 

Loki hesitated, startled when pearl-white eyes opened and stared blindly at him. But, for all the exhaustion that lay in the scarred lines that spread across his skin, there was humor in those eyes and a tilt to the man's lips that begged to be kissed away. It was all the reasons, and more, for Loki to finally end things.

 

"No more sleeping," he said, "Anthony, It's time we woke you up." 

 

Stark tensed, eyes blinking furiously, perhaps out of habit, or simply fear. The smile was long gone by the time he asked, "w-what do you mean?"

 

Loki chuckled, reaching up with his still-healing hands to cup Stark's scratchy-bearded chin. His own blood smeared across his skin, and Loki stole a short, chaise kiss. There would be time enough for more, someday. Now... now it was time to fix what Loki had broken.

 

"It's time to heal your eyes."

 


	10. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony talks science, Loki's finally making his choice, to betray, or not betray, and some uninvited guests make a good moment go sour.

 

"You're going to _what_?" 

 

"Surely you understood me," Loki drawled right in his ear. As casual as all hell, like he didn’t just announce ground-breaking news and successfully confuse the shit out of Tony.

 

"Well excuse me for being half asleep and apparently my sort of enemy-life-ruiner-snuggle-buddy is telling me he's going to fix my fucking eyes? Please allow me a moment.” 

 

If Tony was snappish, it wasn't exactly his fault. He _was_ half asleep, and Loki had just run off and left him for nearly dead not that long ago, _and_ he had built up this whole persona for Loki thatwas slowly but surly being torn down day by day. And, oh, just generally throwing everything he firmly believed in right out the window.

 

Loki was suppose to be a bastard, using Tony for his magic planet connections, or conduit stuff—whatever. He was a murderer,the bad seed in the Odin family—if one believed some of Thor’s ramblings, which Tony tended not to trust because Thor was so damn wishy-washy about Loki it was like watching some wax their car. 

 

Wax on

wax off.

 

This whole fixing him did not fit anywhere in this world domination or magic retrieval plan, anyway. From Tony’s perspective, there was simply no way it benefitted the god. Loki needed contact to gain access to his magic, as basic as it was—according to Loki—and being away seemed to dumb that down and— _also_ according to Loki—hurt him pretty badly. In no way did Tony’s eyesight come into this, other than keeping him locked up in his tower to remain in contact with Loki all the time. In fact, fixing his eyes would be _bad_ for Loki’s plans. 

 

Unless, of course, it was just another ploy at earning Tony's trust, which didn't seem a likely possibility since Loki didn't exactly _need_ more of his trust, he kind of already had it. A version of it, the kind of, ‘I have no other options,’ sort of trust reserved for deadly situations and Natasha with a syringe. It wasn’t as though Tony had the ball in his court, Loki had been holding all the cards since the day he showed up in Tony's hospital room and started feeding him blueberries. Loki was the one who knew who walked in and knew who he was dealing with, who knew why they were drawn together, and who could easily kill him _without his hands_ , or by simply leaving him alone for more than an hour.

 

_What's his game plan? Does he even get that once I can see, I'll be out of here before he can blink? I can be Ironman again.There’s no way Loki doesn’t know what’s going to happen as soon as this connection breaks._

 

Pushing himself up and out of the god's personal space, Tony stretched his achy muscles and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. The distance was important, especially for what he was going to ask. Plus, he was only wearing some boxers and what felt like a tank-top, not ideal for an awkward conversation with a God who could kill him without his hands, apparently. It wasn’t exactly _armor_.

 

 "Can you even do that, fixing my eyesight?” He asked wearily, trying to keep any hope from leaking into his voice. He needed to get a grip on this thing before something went wrong, like it usually did. "I thought it was a part of this whole 'bond' fiasco, that I can't be healed because of my body reverting to its original state from the event of your escape. We pretty much—no, we _did_ create a singularity, or actually, you did."

 

Loki shifted beside him, but didn't sit up as Tony expected him to. Instead, he decided to tuck his _stupid_ cold nose against one of Tony's legs and refused to move even when tony shoved and grumbled at him. Why was he acting like a cat? This was a serious conversation, the least he could do is sit up and talk eye to eye, or, well, at least stop rolling around.

 

Oh… _right… broken hands_ , he reminded himself. Loki can't actually put his weight on them to lift himself up, that's a viable excuse for this leg–face–touching, he surmised. Since they needed to touch still.

 

_Wait, if his hands are crushed... is he bleeding on my bed?!_

 

"I do not know what this phrase means in terms of time, only when used for that which is unique," the god muttered, sounding irritated. Probably for not knowing something, _poor baby_. 

 

"It's more like space-time," Tony began, feeling shamelessly smug that he knew something loki didn't. Plus, it was a welcome distraction from where Loki's face was. "Aaaannnnd it's the kind of a science I don't usually touch with a ten foot pole, because there's nothing _to_ touch with a ten foot pole. It's the massive hypothetical, intangible field of science and it’s fucking fascinating, and I might have gotten bored enough once to read articles about it online for an entire night." He paused and muttered to himself, "until JARVIS thought it was funny to show me a porn site with my face all over it. How did they even _find_ those pictures of me, anyway?"  

 

“I believe you were speaking about something _important_?" Loki prompted, tickling Tony's leg with his hot breath and what might of been a smile. It was hard to tell, the overall sensation was starting to get tingly and a little awkward.

 

Tony cleared his throat and forced himself not to react in any way shape or form. He deserved a fucking metal for this, a 'you didn't kill-fuck-cry-at Loki award. But what would the shape be? He should—no. Tony forced himself out of his little day dream of actually ordering said award from one of those custom places with the reminder that he couldn’t _see_ it anyway. Well, right now he couldn’t, but if Loki was serious about this, which he had his doubts about, but _if_ he was, Tony would order the damn thing. Maybe one for Loki, too.

 

“Okay, right, important. So us humans have this theory about strings, worm holes, and a thing called space-time continuum. Some of us like to think that a singularity is an infinite value. In sense of time, and shit like that, it could be interpreted as a never-ending moment. A 'Groundhog's Day' kind of a thing." 

 

“Never ending? An Infinity Wheel, then." 

 

"Okay, good, you do have a term for it." Tony smirked, tilting his head at the god to be cute. “It’s a pretty awful, archaic term, though. 'Wheel'? Really?" 

 

" _Hjōl_ , then," Loki huffed, his nose disappearing from Tony's leg and leaving an oddly empty feeling in his chest until one chilly foot found its way to Tony's stomach and slid right up under his shirt. Tony swatted at it in vain, only managing to earn himself a second cold foot joining the other.

 

"Cut it out, you two year old."

 

"You do not see me mocking yourarchaic science, do you?"

 

"Uh, yes, you did like, yesterday."

 

"Oh, that wasn't _mocking_ ," Loki purred, "that was simply making an observation of the facts."  

 

"Shut up," Tony groused, pushing feebly at Loki’s legs in a final attempt at freeing himself form cold feet. That frosty bastard. Tony wasn't even feeling pukey enough to threaten him with vomiting and Loki wouldn't get the Exorcist references, anyway.  

 

"Back to _important_ things,” Tony parroted, “is this wheel the same thing? Because there's Time Dilation, which is different because it's time moving differently between two coinciding events at different longitudes in the continuum, which is only one theory and a disputed one at that. But, that's maybe got something to do with how we're reverting to that singularity slowly... maybe... But that would mean that our time is moving separately, but maybe parallel from everyone around us and I don't think that's it. Or, at least, not all of it. Unless we're secretly moving really, really fast. Which makes no sense at all." 

 

Loki hummed thoughtfully and agreed. ”That does not sound correct, no. On the hjōl, it is a moment of frozen time, quite literally on a wheel, he describes, “The wheel turns for eternity, passing over every moment, every second that passes in the Nine Realms, over and over again. Each one passing not once, but billions upon billions of times, forever. There are no singularities, lest you mean the moment itself being unique. There is that, for sure, because no two events can ever be precisely the same."

 

"Sooo, basically linear time, meets the Earth’s rotation. But with some string theory thrown in—that means I was right!"

 

"I... No, not exactly,"Loki replied, sounding confused. "The rotation is similar, the rise and fall of temperatures may also have some correlation, if you are willing to reach into the more physical aspects of it. Considering the never ending cycle, then yes, it could be seen as similar your planet. Time is fluid for us who walk the paths of the Nine. I may not see through all barriers, as Heimdall does, but if I open myself up to the energies around me, I can experience things at all times, all genders, all ages.” 

 

Tony flashed a grin and leaned over Loki's feet, feeling for them under his shirt before he started to play with the god's toes absentmindedly. There was a startled grunt, but Loki didn’t seem to mind enough to complain.

 

_This magic science combo isn't half bad_ , Tony thought with a secret smile. So the language was different, obviously, but the content was relatively the same. Time was time, rotation was rotation, no one can control it and we all die someday. That sounded consistent enough to work with.

 

"I think..." Loki began, and stopped, sounding unsure for the second time in one day. It was a little concerning to hear the prince lack confidence. It had been happening a lot lately, or rather, it had been happening in Tony’s presence, which might have something to do with the fact that they’d spent all their time together for the past week or so. A week? Had it really been that long since he got back from the hospital?

 

Beside him, he could almost feel Loki floundering to establish his superior-prince-know-it-all status. Tony could practically hear him planning a way to make Tony feel stupid and probably rely solely on him again. Fat chance.

 

"You _think_? Therefor you are? Wow, you get a gold star,” Tony teased, flashing Loki a sweet smile.

 

The god snapped, "Shut up," and purposely curled his toes around Tony's fingers in a way that didn't so much as hurt, but reminded him that Loki _could_ kill him without his hands and was vaguely intimidating in a way that toes should seriously not be. 

 

"I _believe_ that I can fix your eyes, but not by reversing that moment in time. I hold no claim over it, no matter how I blame myself for these mistakes, everything was out of my control when it happened. The Norns lay claim for that.”

 

“The Norns should fix it, then.”

 

“They have more important things to do than cure one measly mortal’s eyes,” Loki replied with a hint of a smile in his voice. It made Tony want to touch it, just to be sure, because Loki was making this ‘one measly mortal’ a priority, himself, and that was the straw that broke the doubt-camel’s back. 

 

So, he did touch Loki’s lips and felt the god ask, “What are you… doing?” 

 

“Shhhh, i’m blind, indulge me.” 

 

There _was_ a smile, small, but definitely recognizable even under Tony’s touch. He traced the lower lip slowly, enjoying the warmth of Loki’s breath against his thumb. Loki didn’t have to breathe through his mouth, he could just as easily breathe through his nose, but Tony had a sneaking suspicion—no, he knew—that Loki was doing it on purpose. Just like the time when they kissed, Loki was pressing into his touch, rising off the bed, and before Tony could predict there this is going, that warmth was pressed against his forehead in an old, familiar gesture. 

 

He nearly said something then, but the weight of the silence that fell around them seemed almost… right. So, for once, Tony didn’t let his mouth run, and simply waited for what the god would do next. Because, as usual, the ball was never in his court, and Loki held all the cards.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The man before him as not, in a traditional sense, beautiful, or even particularly appealing in a sexual way. At least, not as far as Loki had seen thus far. But the way his touch felt, somewhat unnerving and thrilling at the same time; as though Loki knew it from a moment many years ago, but yet, was new to it all together. It was confusing, and undoubtably a great part of why Loki needed to heal Stark’s eyes, along with his first and startling sense of guilt that had begun weighing on him since the first day he sat down in that uncomfortable chair in the hospital and spoke to him. 

 

His touch threw reason to the wind, rage died under it, fear was soothed by it, and an intense need for more remained every time it ceased. 

 

 

To put it simply, Loki had a problem, and to fix said problem, he needed to make a choice, and make it quickly. Save the man who made him feel something, and risk him ruining everything Loki risked to escape, or complete the severing spell and free himself from their bond.

 

“I have everything I need to do this,” he said, keeping his voice void of emotion. “We could set up in your livignroom, now that the able is gone, and that couch along with it.”

 

“You know bringing up my ruined furniture is no way to ask me on a date,” the man quipped, sounding his usual cheerful self. Tone, however, could be deceiving, and the unconscious pinch of his brow told Loki everything he needed to know. 

 

“I’m simply reminding you that we have plenty of room for the ritual, I have all the tools, tis a fine rainy day as always, why not embark on this quest?”

 

Stark, who was still quite close, threw his head back and barked out a laugh, “You’re starting to sound like me, only more posh and slightly less ‘plebeian’, as you like to put it, you pompous jerk.”

 

“You have yet to answer my question,” Loki reminded him, studying him carefully for signs of doubt. But, it seemed the shadow of doubt had passed, and a bright, warm smile graced the mortal’s lips for the first time since he had left the hospital.

 

“Right now?”

 

“Right now.”

 

Stark wiggled, pulled at Loki’s toes annoyingly, and jumped up, tossing the sheets away and sliding to the edge of the bed to escape it. He seemed to hover there, ready to fling himself from the room, but not willing to take the risk of running into something as he had often done so before.

 

“Let’s do this!” he cheered, waving in Loki’s general direction. “I’m ready, more than ready. Will it hurt, because i’ve got a high pain tolerance, so give me a scale from 10-30 or something, how bad will it be?” he paused, tapping his finger against the bed. “On second thought, don’t tell me, I don’t want to chicken out because it’s hard. As long as it’s possible, I can handle hard.” 

 

It was amusing that the mortal so excited for something that would most definitely cause him pain, no matter which spell Loki chose to execute. Both would require blood, as well as great wells of energy from both he and Loki.

 

“Stark, cease your worrying, and come with me,” he replied, reaching out his still aching hands and yanking them both out of the bed. 

 

“You better explain every step as we—“ Stark stumbled over a carpet for the fourth time in so many days and kept on talking, “—do this. I trust you to sleep next to me without murdering me in my bed, but that’s only because you need me right now. Step by step, or you’re not coming anywhere near my eyes.”

 

With a roll of _his_ eyes, Loki simply dragged the mortal to his living area, a sudden chill running down his spine. Something was different, a subtle shift in the room he could not place just yet. He paused, sending Stark smashing into him with an unhappy grunt. Behind him, the man began to mutter angrily and before he could even since him, Loki noticed that the air felt less stale, and _the elevator door was open_. 

 

“Stark, there is a chance—“

 

“So this is _not_ what I expected at all,” The archer growled, stepping into view from that damned hidden hallway, arrow notched and bow aimed directly at Loki’s head. “I mean, I knew _something_ was up, but this is so far off base I’m not sure I can even express how pissed off I am.”

 

Loki stepped back, shielding Stark’s body behind him for no logical reason. It wasn’t as though his friend would shoot him. Loki, however, was a different story entirely. He nearly jumped when fingers curled against Loki’s back, and he could feel the fear creeping through his skin from Stark’s contact. “Clint—listen, this isn't what it looks like, it’s—“

 

“Exactly what it looks like?” Steve said, he too stepping out and facing them with a look of grave disappointment. 

 

Loki’s eyes narrowed at him as he muttered to the inventor, “It seems your entire team of ‘friends’ has been spying on you, Stark.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for that, I didn’t notice by the way they’re all standing in my fucking living room, judging me.”

 

“Not all of us, actually,” Steve pointed out, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “But Thor’s on his way, now that he knows _you’re_ here, Loki.”

 

Behind him, Stark swore in several languages, and leaned heavily against Loki’s back. Hot breath tickled his neck, along with a whisper so soft he could barely hear it, “Can you still do it?”

 

“Stark…”

 

“What are you two whispering about?” Clint hissed, taking a step forward with his bow still raised. “You’re caught, face it.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” the inventor rasped a little louder. 

 

Loki eyed the others with a sneer, only now noting the presence of one other still hidden behind the wall.

 

_Of course, the Hawk would not be far from his Widow when facing me. Yet I felt nothing of their intent, nor heard any sounds to alert me of their presence, and where was that device of Stark’s?_

 

_Why had his JARVIS not alerted them as he had done so before?_

 

There was simply no way to explain this to them quickly and clearly enough to halt any action against him and save Stark’s eyes. The game was up, and Thor was coming to, undoubtably, lock him away once again. He would lose everything he had struggled for and come to value, all because they missed something. Somewhere, they had missed something.

 

Shaking his head, he replied in a low whisper, “We cannot, not here, we need more time to preform the spell and if Thor is arriving then—Anthony, we have no _time_.”

 

“I want to _see_!” he hissed desperately.

 

Loki turned to snap back, “I want you to as well, please, just—“

 

An arrow, shot with perfect intention, grazed Loki’s cheek and just brushed over the top of Stark’s head. In all honestly, if it were not for the soft brown hairs that drifted down the man’s startled face, Loki would have felt nothing other than a mild irritation. Even as the cut on his cheek beaded with blood, even as his own safety was threatened in such a childish way, he would have simply run and waited to get his revenge some other day. But this was Stark… _Anthony_ , and with just one small miscalculation, he have been killed. Loki’s connection to his magic would be gone, leaving him to slowly wither away and die in great pain and misery. He may live for another entire decade in pain…

 

and Anthony would still be _dead_. 

 

“Oh,” Loki breathed, “You will regret that.” 

 

“Oh no… no, no, no, don’t!” Stark begged, clawing at Loki’s arms and holding on tightly. Loki tried to jerk his body away, snarling at the mortal soundlessly.

 

“He will pay for what he—“

 

“No, god dammit! Let’s go! For fucks sake, let’s just go!”

 

“You’re not leaving until you explain this, Tony!” Clint called out, and the sound of another arrow being notched changed Loki’s mind instantly.  

 

Loki turned, slowly wrapping his arms around Stark and tucking his head firmly against his chest. 

 

“We have more important things to deal with than you inherent ability to misconstrue what lies before your very eyes,” Loki all but sighed. “I shall return your precious Iron Man to you, and then, perhaps we shall all finally talk.”

 

Both men dove forward, and a flash of red hair joined them almost instantly. But they were too late, and they were whisked away in a shimmer of gold.

 

Upon their arrival, both he and Stark stumbled to their knees, panting and clutching to one another in desperate silence. When the dizziness had passed, and both had caught their breaths, Stark’s muffled voice broke the silence around them.

 

“So… where are we?”

 

Loki smiled to himself ruefully, and answered, “Where we will be safe, for now.”

 

“And that’s where?”

 

“A well warded apartment, several blocks away from your tower. Welcome to my temporary home, Mr. Stark.”

 


	11. Two by Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't plan for this.   
> There's no escape.
> 
> He didn't plan for this.

It was not Loki’s ideal situation, nor was it practical, but his ratty apartment was the safest place in the city, sans Stark’s own tower. Well, that was no longer included now that they had been found out. To Loki, it was not so terrible an ordeal to be caught along side Anthony, clearly having been there for some time, and clearly not holding the poor mortal captive. For the inventor, obviously, it was much more traumatic. 

 

Upon their arrival, the man promptly tripped over Loki’s pealing carpet and went face first into the back of the only clean and whole piece of furniture in the apartment. He had, after all, needed at least one sanitary place to rest when he returned here. The rest was mere space, meaningless to his needs.

 

“This is so fucked up,” Anthony groaned, pulling himself up on shaking arms and leaning heavily against the couch. Loki had not moved to help him, the rawness of the mortal’s voice warning him off. This was not the correct time to hold him close, even if Loki felt a curiously strong urge to do just that. “I’m so screwed. I’m _royally_ screwed and you haven’t even fucked me yet.”

 

Loki’s brows rose in surprise before he quickly forced himself to keep his expression lax. It was not a good habit to get into, expressing himself so freely simply because the man was blind. Someday he would not be, and Loki would do best not to forget himself. 

 

“I was not aware that you intended such a thing to become a future endeavor for us,” countered Loki, moving around the couch to sit with his legs pulled up tightly to his chest. He did not like Stark being here. It felt wrong, him being so close to where Loki came to lick his wounds. So close to the magic that nearly killed him twice over now. Where Loki had nearly killed him, again.

 

 “Please stop bumbling around and sit.”

 

Peeved and clearly exhausted, Stark managed to join him on the couch with little trouble and even less argument. There was clearly a lot more he wished to say, but as soon as he fell back onto the couch, his anger seemed to deflate as he sunk into the cushions. 

 

“You can’t tell me that didn’t suck,” he argued at last, blank eyes falling closed. It made Loki want to reach out and _do_ something to him. 

 

_Do not look so vulnerable in my place of power_ , he thought, offended that he had lost the fear he once held over the mortal. It was a powerful tool that was necessary for remaining in control of this situation. Even if he had already begun to lose his grasp, he was still a god, still strong, still… fearful, right?

 

Loki frowned, wondering when that had become a question rather than a statement, and tried to reassure that yes, he was the manipulator not the manipulated. “It did not ‘suck’, as you say. It’s a simple set back that, if you so wish it, you can amend once we complete our current task.” Loki turned and studied the man, running a thumb across his lower lip as he thought. “You do wish to continue, yes?”

 

The man hesitated, legs stretching out in his usual lazy sprawl before answering, “Just… give me a minute to finish this train of thought. I’ve got some dots I need to connect about what just happened.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Such as how the fuck did they know you were there? Or how about: why didn’t my trusty AI warn me I had a bunch of loser spies in my hallway?JARVIS doesn’t take any commands that override my own, or get hacked, so that’s bad, real bad. Or maybe even why the fuck Thor wasn’t there and where has he been all week? It’s been raining for days—it’s still raining—why isn’t he in the tower?” he paused, fingers tapping against his thigh in a gesture that had, startlingly, become familiar to Loki. “I get the feeling something else is going on here…”

 

“Perhaps your spies were doing what they do best, and _spying_ ,” Loki sneered, ignoring the aggravated huff from beside him. “As for my _brother_ … I do not understand his patterns anymore, and perhaps I never did. I was under the impression that he was out looking for me, according to your Captain.”

 

 

“That’s what he said, or yelled—whatever—but it doesn’t seem a little fishy to you? If ‘my spies’ had a feeling you were here—which, again, how?—then shouldn’t he have been in the know?” Stark blinked and sat up a little. “Actually, I take that back, knowing Thor, he would have bust down the door the second someone mentioned you _might_ have been there. Not that it matters anymore, because now he knows you're there or, was there and he’s going to know I lied and _oh god_ , I’m going to be turned into a human lightning pole.”

 

Loki simply rolled his eyes and turned away, facing the dingy window that was still streaked with rain. If anything, it seemed to be coming down even harder now, and Loki pondered a moment what that meant. 

 

Had they told him yet? Were these his tears or his anger? Just how much faith did his dear brother still hold in him after crushing his hands and sewing his lips shut? It was not as though he hadn’t seen the tears bubble up in those no-longer innocent blue eyes of his, even as he pulled the last stitch closed and wiped away the blood pouring down Loki’s chin. He had cried for him, whether it was in regret for what he was doing or grief for what he thought he had lost. 

 

For what he had _just_ lost. The fool so convinced that this was all new, not some lingering, painful beast that had finally broken free of its cage after years. Damned years of holding back his anger and what sort of brother, of blood or not, doesn’t notice that?

 

Beside him, Stark cleared his throat. “You seem a little too calm about this for someone who’s about to lose their magic conduit to their stupid brother if he finds us. You know, your magical key to your magical _planet_ of magic?”

 

“Will you ever let that go?”

 

“Nope. It’s a fucking planet. A celestial body is holding your magic. Considering who I am, you should feel blessed that I haven’t made all the overcompensation jokes iv’e wanted to since you told me.”

 

“A blessing would be silence as a whole, and as appealing as it is to hear how little faith you hold in Thor, your own _precious_ team mate, I do not think for a second that he would harm you as such.”

 

“You do know he’s tried to kill me, right?”

 

“Are you speaking of the time where I watched you both fight like children over a toy?”

 

“Fuck you, it wasn’t like that,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest in yet another familiar gesture. He was locking Loki out over something so simple? Loki was having none of that, they would be getting no where any time soon if he did not sooth those gaudy feathers of his. 

 

“I apologize,” Loki lied. “But you must understand, I heard everything quite clearly and I recall a certain someone claiming me as one of ‘his _things_ ’?”

 

A charming blush crawled up Anthony’s neck to his cheeks and, sputtering, he tightened his arms around his chest even more. “I didn’t mean it like… that wasn’t… we just brought you in and he comes swinging in like he’s got first dibs!”

 

“mmhmm…” Loki hummed in disbelief and let out a bark of laughter when he was shoved in the arm by a very flustered man. 

 

“Stop it, or I’ll walk come in the rain and die of radiation poisoning on the street corner or something. If someone doesn’t mug and kill me first, it is New York, after all.”

 

“No you won’t.” Loki denied cheerfully. “Because you want this more than anything right now.”

 

Beside him, the man stiffened and shifted away again, making an obvious effort to remove all parts of him touching Loki. It was odd, to say the least, and Loki thought back to their conversation, trying and failing to find something that was worthy of such a response. Nothing stuck out to him, so he made a guess that it was something about his last statement that made him pull away.

 

Was it not true, then? Did he not want his eyes healed, for some strange reason? That made no sense whatsoever, not after he begged Loki to fix his eyes, even as they were under pressure of his comrades. Not just asked, _begged_. He wanted this more than anything in the Nine, yet he pulled away as though Loki had… as though… he thought Loki meant something else.

 

Turning sharply, Loki narrowed his eyes at the smaller man, watching him visibly shrink into the couch as his cheeks retained there flush, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

 

“You do want… this… do you not?” he inquired, carefully choosing his words to reflect what he had said before without alluding to what ‘this’ he meant. Something was off about him, and he would not let it slide if it was to get in the way of his plans.

 

“Yeah…” he breathed, a shudder running through him. “ _Shit_ , yeah, I do.”

 

Loki unfolded himself and crawled closer, touching the man’s shoulders to let him know he was approaching. 

 

“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“It’s not—no—it’s not like that—“he broke off as Loki’s hands cupped his face, dragging him up from his hunched position. “ _Please_ …”

 

Loki had no idea what he was doing, but somewhere, some part of him needed to know. He must know what that meant, the thing Anthony Stark wanted.

 

 “Please _what_?” he whispered, already brushing their noses together. If he was wrong… if he was misinterpreting everything, there was no going back, anyway. They had kissed, touched, teased one another before. Why stop now?

 

The man swore, and closed the distance with a small, needy sound escaping him just before their lips clashed together. 

 

* * *

 

 

_What did you just say yes to, Tony Stark?_

 

Yes, he wanted to see again because—hello—who wouldn’t? Or yes to _this_ thing with Loki, this thing they’ve been dancing around because maybe it’s just the fact that Tony hasn’t had physical contact outside of a physical therapist in almost a year, or maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome, or maybe he just fucking likes the guy when he’s not hurting him. Even if he _has_ hurt him.

 

Tony decided he would figure that out as he went along, because for the first time since the accident, he actually felt free and _ohgodyes_ _this is nice_. There were no cameras, no super solider breathing down his neck, no concerned friends, no asshole bosses, no one to tell him he’s being a bad person for this. Nothing but him and Loki and his selfish, _selfish_ desires. 

 

Oh yeah, he was selfish, especially the way he dove into the kiss so desperately. There was no hesitation this time, just tongues and teeth and Loki was sucking him in, pulling him down into the darkness and Tony was going all too willingly. 

 

“What—do you—want?” he asked between quick, sloppy kisses. Distracting fingers carted through his hair and pulled with just the right amount of tension to make him groan and arch into the god’s body. Tony wished he could see him, because if the little puffs of breath against his lips and the tension of the thin body pressing into him meant anything, it meant Loki was coming unraveled right before him and he didn’t even get to watch. 

 

He didn’t get to see Loki, the real Loki. All he had were vague memories of a snarling face, a smile so sharp it hurt to see and those shadows under his eyes, like he’d seen things. Like he’d been drowned in a cave in the middle of the desert somewhere, too. 

 

He pulled back regardless of the disappointed sound that came from the lips he reluctantly left and said, “Loki… wait… wait.”

 

“Why?” he snarled, “Do not deny this, not _now_. You just said—“

 

“No, I know what I said,” Tony assured, sitting up and licking the taste of mint and something almost sweet from his lips. Loki’s taste.

 

 “I just need something else right now. Then I promise more of this, a lot more of this. Like, a marathon of _this_.”

 

Loki’s tension went from heated and sexy to stiff and unsure in the space of a second. Tony almost regretted it, mostly because he had never felt Loki like that before. Even during their snuggling-sleeping sessions at night, they never seemed to reach that comfort zone and now that it was gone it was so painfully obvious how different it had been. Aaaaand Tony ruined it.

 

“Hey, look,” he began, reaching out to run his fingers over Loki’s forehead and brow. As predicted, they were furrowed together in that sharp scowl he did have a memory of. “Loki… I want to see you.”

 

Rather than an immediate answer, Tony got more hesitant silence and the hands that had been wandering over his body dropped away. So, he waited, pressing a finger between the god’s eyebrows to smooth out the wrinkles formed there. After a few moments of rubbing at Loki’s forehead, he somehow managed to get an amused huff out of him. 

 

“You utter child…” Loki murmured, hands finding Tony’s back once again. 

 

“Says the one moping and not answering me. Lokes, come on, you said it wouldn’t be that hard, right? So why are you pulling this shit, now? I promised some serious compensation, didn’t I?”

 

Tony could hear the sneer in Loki’s voice as he hissed, “Is that what this was, compensation?” 

 

“Oh for… would you cut it out? Every step forward with you is another ten steps back the second you start _thinking_. I thought you were some all mighty god, but no, you’ve got a list of insecurities longer than mine, and that’s saying something.”

 

“Well perhaps I do not wish to be taken for granted,” He snapped in response. “Did you ever think of that? I may be a god, but against all odds you were chosen for my conduit, Stark. You alone hold the key to my magic, my _life,_ and you cannot expect me to believe you haven’t thought of just what to do with me once you’re eyesight is returned? I am no fool, Stark, do not make the mistake of thinking I trust you to do anything less than betray me the second you see your chance.”

 

“Are you… are you kidding me?” he asked incredulously. “What are you even talking about? I don’t fuck people over that I owe. I take this shit as seriously as you do, or at least, as seriously as you _should_. I know we aren’t normal—“ Loki huffed again. “—We’re weird, admit it. We don’t make a lick of sense as… whatever we are. You’re not even supposed to be here, but you’re not supposed to be in that cell, broken and alone, either. Neither of us deserve what we got—or, well, I mean, you kind of did kill a ton of people and basically ruined my life with your little magic trick there, and that’s bad, so yeah, maybe you need to do something about that.”

 

“If you think—“

 

Tony held up a hand to stop him and ended up shoving his fingers up Loki’s nose. Totally accidentally, but still hilarious. He fixed it, quickly and without laughing, thankfully, and pressed his fingers against the god’s lips.

 

“Listen to me, for once,” he demanded. “I’m not going to give you some long speech about repenting for your sins or some shit. That was be annoying hypocrite of me and let’s just say, it’s not what I think you need. But you need to do something, Loki, because someone like you can’t become stagnant and it’s just as much for you as the people you hurt. You need something… you need a purpose again—preferably not one like world domination, okay? Just do shit, run around the world, make things, I don’t know, whatever fun stuff you used to do back on the ol’ Asgard.” Loki narrowed his eyes and tried to move away. He didn’t like the way even Stark’s softest touch kept him still. 

 

“Come on… We both know that smart people get bored and that’s when we get dangerous, that’s when we slack off and lose it. We lose touch with whatever it is that keeps us from fucking _breaking_ everything. And honestly, I would probably have blasted you through the wall if you just showed up like you did and I could _see_. Not gonna lie, I would. Because I wouldn’t been stuck in that room for months going crazy and dreaming up ways to blow up SHEILD as revenge and I have to be crazy to be considering… to want this… thing. With you. That I want.”

 

“You flatter me, truly,” Loki drawled, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. “One must be _mad_ to desire me.”

 

“Yeah, like you’re not thinking the same thing about me.”

 

“And if I am?”

 

“Then we’re exactly as weird as I said we are and you’re argument is invalid so stop wasting our time and _help_ me.”

 

Once again, Loki hesitated, but instead of pulling away this time, he pressed their foreheads together and just breathed. 

 

And Tony really didn’t know what to do anymore. He hadn’t made any contingency plans that included this mess. Hell, he had been pretty sure he would be dead before his first week out of the hospital was up. But ever since his mysterious British gang member showed up, plans had gone out the window and there was nothing he could do but go with the flow. And besides, he had learned something, surprisingly enough. He had learned that there was more to the god who had been nothing but some two demential criminal using his precious reactor technology to power his portal to bring an army and wreck his city.

 

That there was guilt, maybe misplaced, but Loki was capable of guilt and that was something. He also learned that Loki liked to read and damn was his voice like sex. He learned that Loki maybe had suffered a little before this whole ‘take over the world’ thing had happened, even if he hadn’t exactly talked about it. He could tell, or at least, he should have seen it in his eyes back then. The blue, the shadows, the nasty color to his skin. 

 

Unless that was just his skin tone, which, okay, Tony could live with that, but he just looked sick and sick people don’t decide to take over worlds willy-nilly. Sick people wait until they’re at full power. Sick people usually have someone pulling their strings and shoving their heads into buckets of water until said sick person does exactly what they wanted. 

 

And there was more, underneath all that venom and stiffness, there had to be, because Tony had sensed it every time the god tucked his face into Tony’s hair and fell asleep in his arms like that was normal, like they didn’t actually fit in those molds they were forced to conform to. Because Loki didn’t hurt him unless Tony pushed all the right buttons and that was his own fault for needing to test people, because Loki wasn’t fucking evil.

  
He was just him. A little messed up, granted, and probably in desperate need of some TLC and why not throw in some hot, violent sex while they were at it?

_I want him,_ Tony realized, _I want him, scars and all and jesus, we are so_ weird _._

 

“Loki…” he whispered, “I don’t know why, or if I even want to, but I trust you. To an extent. You haven’t exactly given me much choice, I mean, you kind of hold the ‘key to my life’ in your hands, too, in case you forgot, but I do. Okay? So maybe trust me a little, you’ve been doing good so far.”

 

“I… understand,” replied the god, still taking deep breaths and pressing their heads together. “I will heal your eyes, and you will notturn me over to your friends, Thor, or SHEILD. Do we have have an accord?”

 

“Deal,” he agreed, and wondered how much Loki was going to hate him when he said, “But I am going to have to go back there and talk to them. Especially Thor. I really don’t want that festering until they think we’re making plans to kill everyone.”

 

“I doubt they will wait long, but am not returning with you. Even if it hurts us,” Loki replied calmly, apparently taking on a new form of optimism after their bargain. “Thor will not listen to reason, he never has. I will be returned to my cell before you can even begin to argue for my freedom.”

 

“If you wished to,” he added softly.

 

_That’s not the impression I got_ , Tony thought, remembering the thunderer’s face when Tony asked him how he could do that to his brother. Maybe they could do it, maybe they could set up some kind of deal after explaining what was going on and how they kind of might die if separated so don’t take my… life away.

 

“We’ll see,” Tony muttered, and left it for another day. 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki looked at the bowl he had once smashed against the floor in a burst frustration. Frustration over failing to break the bond with and kill the very man who stood in front of him now. It seemed ridiculous, standing here with blood pooling in his hand, blank, trusting eyes gazing back at him in the dim candle light. 

 

But, this was where he was now, this was who he was. He had made this choice for himself, for Anthony, and no one else was going to persuade him to change his mind ever again. For once, he would keep what he had earned. Precious, rare _trust_.

 

“Your hand,” he directed, reaching out to take it. The man’s lips had a slight tip downward, head tilted to side just enough to catch every sound Loki was making. But regardless of his tension, he seemed to trust him, just as he said, and allowed Loki to run his blade across the palm of his hand. 

 

“Ow! A little warning next time?” he snapped, automatically flinching away. 

 

But Loki held on fast and pulled his hand over the bowl, tipping it to spill the mortal’s blood in with his own. The gold seemed to glow with firelight, and as both their bloods mixed, a hum slowly grew until it was all around them. The bowl was reacting something, or rather, the runes carved into it were. 

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

“Is it too much to ask for silence?” Loki requested, watching the blood fill until it covered the notch in the metal. “ hold it to your chest, and remain silent.”

 

The man muttered something that Loki ignored for favor of leaning in to listen to the hum. He hadn’t even begun the spell work yet, the runes should have remained dormant until activated. So what was this power from? Surly not from Loki’s nearly magic-less blood, not after his separation from it. 

 

  
“Stark… is there any old magic in your family” he asked carefully, not taking his eyes off the pool of blood that rippled on its own volition.

 

“Uh, excuse me? No, we’re scientists,” he answered. “This is going against all my genes right here.”

 

Loki hummed thoughtfully and crouched down, leveling his gaze across the rippling surface. 

 

“Something is… different. I believe our blood is reacting to one another’s in… some way.”

 

“Okay, not liking how unsure you sound about this, considering you’re the big bad wizard here, not me.”

 

“I preferred your silence,” Loki commented dryly, and reached out to activate the first rune. It felt hot under his fingers, and he traced it more quickly than usual. The other him—the monster—recoiled at the heat, and Loki found himself struggling to place his hand on the next one. 

 

‘Sun…” he murmured, and this time the rune seared his flesh, his skin boiling as he traced the lines. He let out a pained grunt and shuddered, sweat breaking out across his body. 

 

“What’s gong on, what’s wrong?” Loki glanced up, noticing Stark’s concerned gaze turned the wrong way, as usual. “Loki?”

 

“Nothing to fret about, but do please continue the be silent. I need to concentrate.”

 

The third and final rune should have been easier, considering his heritage, but it was not. The cold stung, ice crawling down his fingers and across the back of his hand. But it did not stop there, and continued to send spikes of pain up his arm until it reached his heart. 

 

 

That was when he felt it, his mask slipping away and the beast breaking free. No, not breaking, _tearing_ free. Ripping him apart cell by cell and all he could do is watch in horror as pale, Aesir flesh turned blue. His vision grew fuzzy, darkness slowly creeping in on the edges of his vision and this was _wrong_ , so wrong. 

 

_ What has gone wrong? _

 

He opened his mouth to scream, but Stark’s own startled screech cut him off.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was dark.

 

No, it was light, really light.  


  
Too bright— _stop_ —please…

 

Who was that? Who was looking at him—no don’t touch _don’ttouchme!_

 

Tony shrunk away, but it was the wrong way, that hand was still reaching for him and touching him but he could see it in front of him and across from him. Why was it coming from two directions? Stop touching—stop—

 

Blue and red and someone was whimpering in pain or maybe that was him.

 

_It’s too bright._

 

_God, it hurts._

 

“Loki,” he rasped, reaching up to cover his face with shaking hands. Darkness returned to him, and for the first time in so long, Tony welcomed it gratefully. “Oh fuck… something’s wrong.”

 

There was no answer but another pained sound that, once again, Tony couldn’t tell who it came from. Everything hurt, something was wrong, why wouldn’t he be making sounds like that?

 

“Loki… what did you do?”

 

Finally, a weak voice answered him, “I didn’t… I had not even finished the spell…”

 

“What?”

 

Loki refused to answer again, and Tony heard something clatter to the floor with a wet sound. Then, there was a shuffling, and another thud from what sounded like across the room, and Tony decided to risk the pain to see what was going on.

 

“Loki, what is… augh—“he cut off, once again assaulted with light and confusing shapes. Somewhere, a muffled cry answered his, and Tony moved to follow it. 

 

It was strange, but everything felt like it was listing to one side. No, wait, what was he seeing? Why did it feel tilted—it _was_ titled—some hideous wallpaper at an angle, but he was seeing the door, too. Tony scowled and tried to blink away the super imposed image of ugly wall paper away. He failed, and ended up stumbling over something on the floor.

 

“Fucking hell!” he fumed, catching himself before he fell. Again, he was answered with another noise and Tony’s heart stopped. It sounded like a wounded animal and this time he knew it wasn’t coming from him. “Loki? Come on, where are you?”

 

“Stay away.”

 

“No way in hell, buddy,” Tony answered, squinting through the blurry mess of images and light until, suddenly, the wallpaper disappeared and half his vision went dark. “Gah! Stop it… fuck… just stop!”

 

“Not me,” Loki rasped from somewhere near. 

 

Tony, giving up on trying to see, reached out for him with his eyes closed and found what he thought was a shoulder before it jerked away from his touch. 

 

 

“I know, hey, I know, Loki,” he spoke soothingly, kneeling down next to what he was pretty sure was Loki curled up on the floor. “What’s wrong? Why do you feel so damn cold?”

 

He was always a little cold, well, except when they got all tucked into bed together, then Loki warmed right up and—focus, Tony, _focus_. 

 

His hand trailed down Loki’s arm and just as he reached the hem of his sleeve, the god twitched away again with another grunt. 

 

“Stop! Don’t touch me!”

 

Tony held his hand away, frowning. “Okaaay, so it hurts there… where doesn’t it hurt?” 

 

“That’s not… that… please, just stay away. It could hurt you.”

“It?”

 

“I could…”

 

“Yeah, been there done that,” Tony remarked dryly and darted forward, blinding grabbing at Loki’s shivering body and wrapping his arms around it. Loki gasped, Nothing hurt, but damn was he cold to the touch. “See? All good. Now calm down, you’re making _me_ panic.”

 

“How are you…?” Loki wondered softly, and twitched again, this time pressing into Tony’s body rather than away. 

 

A royal fucker of a headache was building behind Tony’s eyes, sending shooting pains all the way downhill neck to his spine and well, everywhere after that. It was troubling, as was pretty much everything right now, but his heat rate was finally slowing and at some point Loki stopped shivering. 

 

“Lokes?”

 

“What did you just call me?”

 

“Lokes, deal with it and can you please fucking explain what’s going on? I’m so out of my territory i’m pretty sure I need a passport.”

 

“Do not call me that ever again,” Loki hissed, some of his usual Loki-ness returning. A cold cheek brushed against his, and Tony just had to give in to temptation.

 

He opened his eyes.

 

_Bright._

 

There was blue skin, he thought, and staring at him was one red eye, watery, dark, was it bleeding?

 

_There was pale skin, ghosting over the left side of everything Tony was seeing, and a bright, golden eyed stared back at him._

 

“What the fu…?” 

 

The red eye blinked.

 

_The golden one didn’t._

 

Tony shifted, reaching out to trace the lines stretching out from the red eye and made a small shushing noise as the blue figure flinched. 

 

 

Loki. It was Loki.

 

“Oh… oh god you’re blue.”

“A monster,” Loki breathed, glancing away and sending Tony into a dizzying mess of images. Both of them whimpered and Tony closed his eyes again, pressing their foreheads together like Loki always did to sooth him.

 

“ _No_ ,” Tony whispered.

 

Loki shook his head, their noses bumping together until Tony tightened his grip a little harder to make him stop.

 

“I think you might have messed up,” He pointed out weakly, his hand dropping away to wrap back around Loki’s back. “because I’m seeing double here.”

 

“Double…”

 

“Yeah, I’m seeing… I don’t know what i’m seeing. I think you… and something else.”

 

Loki shifted away again, and Tony had to force himself to look. 

 

Bright, always too bright.

 

The blue—Loki stared at him with narrowed eyes, a grimace of pain crossing his features.

 

_That golden eye stared back, wider, focusing, and now he could see lips framed by a messy beard._

 

Tony frowned. 

 

So did those lips.

 

“Oh my god… is that… me?” he rasped, pulling away and nearly falling as more of himself came into view and jesus, it was him. It was _him_. He was seeing himself.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Don’t you ‘oh’ me! I’m seeing myself! I’m seeing you and myself at the same fucking time!” Tonyshouted, reaching out to grip Loki’s shoulders for balance. He squinted more and scowled. “And what the hell happened to my beard? I look like a chia pet.”

 

Loki frowned, and even in all the confusion, a small part of Tony rejoiced at actually being able to see it. 

 

“I see myself and you, as well,” he whispered, lifting one hand to cover his eye. 

 

Tony’s view of himself disappeared, replaced with a black fuzz along his vision of Loki.

 

“You _switched our eyes_?”

 

“I did not do this!”

 

“You poured our blood into a bucket and did something to us!” Tony snapped back. “I could feel it!”

 

“I did _not_ do this!” Loki roared, diving forward and pushing Tony to the floor. 

 

Tony automatically lashed out with his legs, but Loki was not so easily caught off guard this time, and pressed his weight into him. Tony opened his mouth to hiss or snap or maybe bite him, but something about the face above him made him stop.

 

Something about the anger in his own face made him stop.

 

“Okay…” he allowed, going still under Loki’s body. “Okay, this isn’t your fault. Alright? I’m trusting you.”

 

Above him, all the anger and desperation seemed to bleed from Loki’s face, until a weak smile replaced his scowl. Tony, completely caught off guard by a sight he’d never seen before, gasped and automatically reached out to touch the god’s lips. 

 

_Below him, a surprised smile formed, and a familiar hand reached up towards him._

 

Of course, as soon as he did, Loki realized what he was doing and shuttered his expression into boring old neutral not-feeling-anything.

 

Tony tsked and pulled on Loki’s lip, saying, “Stop it, jesus. The first time I get to see in months and you give me this look? Rejoice! I can see! I can see what you can see, sure, that’s not great, but Loki, look…” he trailed off, grinning up at him while he ran his fingers down Loki’s cheeks, nose, chin. “Look… I don’t jab you in the eye or nose anymore. I can see you.”

 

Loki relaxed, maybe a centimeter at best. But he also tilted his head and kissed the palm of Tony’s hand before sitting up and helping Tony off the floor. 

 

“I will fix this… once I revert back to myself.”

 

“Aren’t you still yourself?” Tony asked, wavering as the mixed vision twisted and swayed alarmingly. “Whoa, okay, one of us needs to close one eye.”

 

Loki frowned and reached out, about to say something when a crack of lightning pretty much blew the fuses in Tony’s mind. 

 

He screamed, a little, and closed both eyes against the impossible brightness assaulting him, yet again. He rubbed at them uselessly and allowed Loki to encompass him in a silent, tight hug.

 

And maybe it was because he was used to the darkness and the way everything felt around him, or maybe because every hair on his body was standing up as though the lightning was in the room, but Tony felt his presence before he spoke.

 

“Loki…”

 

They both turned, eyes opening to see two versions of Thor frowning down at them.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Hands of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony does his best impersonation of an angry, little dog, and Thor isn't an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous chapter title and this chapter title are from the TV series, Firefly.

 

 

A shrill voice echoed off the walls of the dank apartment, the drunk-sounding woman pausing only to take a breath before the screaming began once again. Somewhere beyond that, music was blaring, the bass vibrating through the old floorboards under Tony’s feet. Or maybe that was the growl of obviously Thor-thunder, who’s vibrations shook the entire building.

 

And then, it was silent, and there was nothing but two heart beats thrumming together as Loki pressed closer into his side. He should probably say something, maybe lighten the mood or start the long explanation of how he lied and kissed Thor’s brother and hey, he could see now thanks to him so please don’t take him away. Because just the thought of his empty suite at the top of the tower made his chest clench painfully. He didn’t want to go back to that, especially now.

 

“How is it you do not burn him?

 

Tony blinked at the same time as Loki, and the double image of Thor flickered in a way that made Tony want to vomit. Seeing double—yes he was thankful to see at _all_ —but seeing double really sucked.

 

“Burn?” Tony asked, glancing to his left and seeing himself mirrored in his left eye. He closed it to give them both some relief from the dizzying mess. Things were complicated enough without having to see the horror that was now his beard, or those dark shadows under his eyes that seemed to sag with age. He had no idea how low he had fallen until now, and it wasn’t a pleasant revolution, to say the least. 

 

“A Jotun’s skin burns,” Thor answered, and Tony realized the thunderer had not moved an inch closer since he called out to them. He was still holding his hammer in a vice-like grip, that, coupled with the darkening skies outside and the returning echo of thunder throughout the city proved that him not moving didn’t mean he was fine and dandy.

 

Tony looked away from both of them, trying to give himself enough personal space to think. It had been a while since he actually needed some quick thinking, being an invalid left little reason to exercise his brain like he used to. Tony felt rusty and shaken, it wasn’t a good combination. 

 

Things were… bad. Well, they could be worse, Thor could have attacked them and dragged Loki off to that cell again and Tony probably had a nice padded cell of his own to move into. He was a traitor, after all. 

 

But he wasn’t, none of this was his fault. Sure, he lied, but his life had been in the hands of a mastermind criminal, he didn’t have a lot of choices. 

 

_Yeah, but you took Loki’s hand before you even knew about the binding spell._

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” he told himself, and focused on Loki for the first time since Thor’s arrival.

 

“Loki,” he whispered into the blue ear by his side. “What’s he talking about?”

 

Loki hissed at him to _be silent_ and shifted back into the shadows of the corner just enough for him to disappear. Only his eyes remained bright, catching the light just enough to send a shiver down Tony’s spine. His eyes just _had_ to be red.

 

Tony was so caught up in watching Loki—because hey, he _could_ —that he missed Thor stepping forward and if it wasn’t for the way Loki’s nails dig into his back to pull him closer, Tony would have been plucked right out of the god’s arms. As it was, Thor’s hand did catch the back of his shirt and pulled at the same time as Loki’s nail-burying-into-back-thing began. The effect was a rather nasty moment of choking and gasping for air. 

 

“Let him go!” Loki shrieked, darting out of the shadows and yanking Tony into a full-body hold. Thor hissed something that Tony missed since he was kind of coughing, and let go. Their bodies met air, and slammed backwards into the corner, a whimper of surprise or maybe pain coming from Loki as Tony collapsed on top of him. 

 

And that was the last straw. 

 

Tony turned and snarled at Thor, voice raspy and strained, “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!? What-the- _fuck_!?” He paused to breathe, and tore himself free of Loki’s grasp, stomping up to Thor like he wasn’t 3 feet taller than him and probably sporting about 99% more muscle mass. “I don’t care if you’ve got some unresolved issues with Loki, I don’t care if you’re pissed that I lied to you, I don’t give a shit if you’re _hurt_ or feeling betrayed or even worried about me, you need to back the fuck off and take a breath before you jump in here like you have _any_ idea what’s going on. Which, I’ll let you know right now, you _don’t_!”

 

Thor, big, scary Thor, stumbled back like Tony had gone rabid—which he kind of did—and if it were any other time in their somewhat compatible past, Tony would have laughed after seeing the muscular god flinch away from a ‘tiny mortal’ like him. It was the first time he had seen the guy look frightened of him, which only made Tony angrier. He was gearing up for a fight, after staying quite this entire time, after listening to Thor talk about sewing Loki’s lips together and crushing his fucking hands. After being treated like a plague victim by the entire group, only called out when their pity levels reached maximum capacity and they felt like giving him some busy-work bullshit job to make him supposedly feel better. After months of being trapped in, at first, SHIELD, and then the hospital, being tested, questioned, treated like an idiot. Like it was his _own_ fault he got blinded. After months of sparse visits from mostly Clint, of all people, and one 15 minute call from Pepper that made being blind and lonely seem a thousand times more pleasant than ever going through that again. After Captain-Freedom-Fucking-America waltzed into his room in SHIELD two days after the incident and started concern-yelling at him about endangering his life and the life’s of others. After he somehow found someone who would spend time with him, who—unnecessarily—fed him fruit and read to him and talked to him like he was whole and normal and not a broken old man. Who took care of him, even if it was for selfish reasons that didn’t matter because Tony was selfish too, he really was. He wanted to be treated kindly, which, sure, that was what his team was trying to do, but he also just wanted to be normal to someone. No big deal, just Tony who sometimes tripped over the table or smashed into the wall. No big deal.

 

And here was Thor, looking hurt, of all things. He didn’t deserve to look hurt, and as far as Tony was concerned, he didn’t deserve _shit_. 

 

“You’re all ready to take him away, aren’t you? Going to send him back to his cell for some more torture? How have you been feeling all week, Thor? Were you sad that you couldn’t find your ‘evil’ little brother? ” He continued, voice low. “Well guess what, I got news for you, he’s been living right up stairs from your _boyfriend_ this whole time.”

 

“Why?” Thor stammered, not even picking up on Tony’s jab at Steve. “Why did you hide him?”

 

“Because he—“

 

“I needed him.”

 

Tony bit his lip and glanced away from Thor, wobbling a little as his world spun. His body was thrumming with adrenalin, his anger barely abated even as Loki wrapped his chilled arms around Tony from behind. It felt safe, crazily enough, and Tony wondered if it was because of their habit of snuggling in bed, or something else. 

 

“I need him,” Loki corrected quietly when Thor’s expression of horror broke into something softer and sad. “He is… important.”

 

Tony’s lips twitched as a smile struggled to break through his rage. But, as soon as his little bubble of happiness formed, it was popped again by what Loki said next. 

 

“He is the key to my magic, which _you_ sealed,” He hissed over Tony’s shoulder, and yep, there it was, the hard truth. 

 

Of course Loki didn’t need him for anything else, he was an all-powerful magic alien who don’t need no mortal… lover? Friend? Shit, he didn’t even know what they were—well, no, he did. Apparently they were nothing. He was just a ‘key’, a stepping stone to regaining Loki’s power. 

 

Thor’s fingers once again tightened around his hammer, but he remained standing apart from them with the sort of expression Tony had seen on Steve once when he talked down a man holding 50 people hostage. Patent with carefully concealed rage.

 

“What did you do to him to make him thus?” Thor asked, looking right past Tony like he wasn’t there any more. “He defends you, yet you are simply a leech feeding off of his energy!”

 

“I am no leech! He requires my aid just as I require his.”

 

“What will you do, Loki? Kill him to return your magic to you? Are you truly so heartless to do this to one who has harbored you for some weeks now?”

 

Loki shifted behind Tony, and suddenly, the arms around him didn’t feel so safe anymore. He couldn’t stop his body from tensing, ready to run at the first sign of danger, and Loki let out a soft hum against the back of his neck in protest. 

 

“I will break the bond between us and finally be free,” Loki replied at last. “And you shall never see me again, brother.”

 

“That is no answer to my question,” Thor reminded him, taking a step closer. “I know what happens when you sever such a spell…”

 

“I _will_ be free.”

 

“You will _kill_ him.”

 

Tony blinked both eyes open, and didn’t even care about the superimposed Thor standing slightly to the left of his version of Thor. Because the arms around him were tightening and Tony was going to be killed because he was his usual, idiotic self.

 

Trusting, idiotic self.

 

He let out a growl of anger and tried to tear his body away from Loki. Nails dig into his chest, once again dangerously close to the arc reactor he had stupidly let the god see and touch all these nights, snuggled up together like they meant something. He didn’t snuggle, Pepper always wanted to snuggle. 

 

Pepper would have told him he was an idiot before he ended up this lost. 

 

“Let me go!” He hissed, clawing at the arms crossing his chest. Behind him, Loki grunted, but held on tightly.

 

“Anthony, don’t be a fool! You must—“

 

Tony looked up at Thor, reaching out to him and fucking hell, he looked surprised, not worried. Why wasn’t he _worried_?

 

“You… can you see?”

 

“For fucks sake, Thor!” he yelled, digging his nails in hard enough to make the god bleed. 

 

_Huh… it’s cold. His blood is cold._

 

“Anthony!” Loki hissed in his ear. “Desist and—“

 

“Let. Me. Fucking. Go!”

 

Thor’s voice startled him, not because it was loud, or abrasive like he expected it to be, but because it was so unnaturally small that he almost missed what he said.

 

“Stark, he shan’t kill you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The man in his arms did stop struggling, but his voice was still tight with disbelief. 

 

“You _just_ said he would.”

 

Thor shifted from one foot to the other, not taking his eyes off of Stark’s face. Loki scowled at him, not enjoying where this conversation was headed. Of course Thor would notice, he always saw the softer side of Loki that he, himself, had tried so hard to deny. Of course, his moronic brother would always seek out the good in him.

 

“It was he who returned your sight to you, was it not?” Thor questioned, and for the first time since he arrived, the silver hammer went still at his side. 

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“He would not do that for someone he intended to kill… He would not do that for anyone who did not matter.”

 

Loki sneered, “Perhaps it is easier to do my work without my conduit bumbling around like a helpless child.”

 

“ _Perhaps_?” Tony asked, voice faint. The nails that had embedded themselves in Loki’s arms pulled free, and Loki frowned as the body in his arms simply sagged against him. 

 

He was relaxing, he was trusting him again.

 

“ _He trusts you beyond all others_ ,” the voice whispered. 

 

_No, he thinks I will kill him._

 

_“But you won’t.”_

 

Loki blinked. When had that changed? He thought back to the weeks before, spent apart from Anthony as much as possible and for the most part, attempting to sever the bond no matter what the cost. Even the mortal’s life. 

 

So when, over this short time, had Loki begun to change his plans? He had thought of restoring the mortal’s sight, but initially it was to gain more trust so he would have better access to the man’s blood. The blood needed for the severance spell, and quite a lot of it, too. But here he was, curled around Stark, exposed in his true form and in pain—in pain because of this mortal—and that was somehow _acceptable_. 

 

“No…” he mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eye. 

 

Stark shifted in his arms, and Loki grimaced as his own face came into view in one of his eyes. He would need to fix that, and soon. There was no great pleasure derived from seeing the disgusting color of his true form, coupled with the dizzying effect of double sight. 

 

“Loki… you… you’re so stupid.”

 

Loki’s head snapped up. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

“No, I don’t think i’ll excuse you, you stupid, fucking—“

 

“Do continue speaking, I can easily change my mind.”

 

“—Idiot who doesn’t even know—“

 

“It shall no longer be a _quick_ death.”

 

“—what he means to me…” the man trailed off, looking startled at his own admission. 

 

“I—pardon?”

 

Thor chose this exact moment to interrupt, and Loki was quite seriously considering tossing his brother from the window. No, _through_ the window, he needed to smash something. 

 

“You must come with me to explain this to our shield brothers. They are very concerned for you, and they do not understand… Loki.”

 

Stark was giving him the strangest look, questioning and then—a smile, as warm and trusting as those days before he knew just who his mysterious visiter was. Like he knew something Loki did not.

 

“Are you going to stand with us, Thor?” he asked, not removing his gaze from Loki. 

 

“I will, but I expect a better explanation that what I have only gleamed.”

 

“I figured as much, but i’m kind of worried, considering they were aiming weapons at us and did something to JARVIS.” He scowled and added, “They were aiming weapons at us, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Bastards.”

 

Thor spoke up, “They told me they believed you to be under his power, as Barton once was.”

 

“But my eyes aren’t blue—they’re not blue, are they?”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and stared at him blankly. After a moment of staring back, Stark smiled that weird little smile again and said, “Thanks for showing me.”

 

Loki shrugged and moved to stand up, shoving the mortal off of his numbing legs. His body was weak after the backlash of the spell, and his nerves were no better. He was exposed to not only Anthony, but his brother too. He who one claimed he could kill all the Frost Giants, and he who did attack them one out of his own impudence. Thor had never seen his true form, only heard of it from Odin, it seemed. 

 

He needed to fix this as soon as possible.

 

“So, uh, I haven’t really had the chance to thank you, since Thunder Buns over there sort of burst in and interrupted and you went blue, which, by the way, nice color on you. Your eyes kind of do that shiny demon-in-the-dark thing when you’re hiding in the corner, but it’s cool.”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes at the babbling man, but didn’t have the heart to ruin the mood that was slowly crawling out of of the dark pit. He had made a mistake, clearly, with the spell, but they were alive and well.

 

_He watched his own face scowl._

 

Ah, mostly well.

 

Stark continued to babble useless things about colors in the most innocent of ways, and Thor connived to give Loki his strong-hopeful look.

 

“If both of you would shut up,” he drawled, not giving Thor a chance to complain that _he wasn’t talking_. “We should return to that tower of yours before they invade my home.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Stark asked, closing one eye as he glanced around. “This isn’t your home.”

 

Loki raised a brow in question and the man just smirked. 

 

“Loki, do you have power enough to return us?”

 

“I will, but I will not return without my glamour.”

 

“I don’t think they’re going to be looking at the color of your skin when they—“

 

“I will _not_ return like this,” Loki snapped at the man.

 

Stark put his hands up and leaned against the door, all too comfortable in such an unfamiliar place. 

 

“ _This isn’t your home_ ,” the voice repeated.

 

Ah, that was what he meant. 

 

Loki let out a short laugh as he pulled the glamour over himself once again, and whisked them back to the tower.

 

 Back home.

 

 


	13. What You See is What You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sass-fest.

 

 

 

The first words out of Tony’s mouth were, “First of all, fuck all of you,” and that was accepted just about as well as he expected. Namely, it wasn’t. Everyone glared and acted like he was crazy, probably looking for some looming shadows floating over head and, oh yes, look at that, they _were_ blocking all the exists.

 

But, he wasn’t really paying attention because for the first time in almost a year, he could actually see them again. Rogers, with his brow furrowed for so many uptight reasons, was standing closest to them when they appeared in the common room. He was also wearing his suit, which wasn’t a great sign. Behind the scowling solider, leaning lazily against the wall in all their faked nonchalance, was Clint and Natasha. They were looking like they just rolled out of bed in their suits naturally. Bruce, on the other hand, was actually in his PJs, which were adorable, Tony thought, and Bruce regained his honored spot of best friend just because. Well, that and he didn’t look like he about to Hulk out, or feel like it, either.

 

Tony frowned, trying to reach out mentally for that hum he had noticed last time he was in the guy’s presence. It was still there, but it was dull, a mild vibration around the doctor instead of a building pressure like before.

 

“Well, not you Bruce,” he amended. “You’re cool.”

 

“Thanks?”

 

“Any time,” he shot back with a grin.

 

Clint stopped leaning and really stared, reminding Tony of the reason why they called him Hawkeye. “Wait…”

 

“Of course it’s _you_ ,” Tony muttered under his breath, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back into the body behind him without thinking too hard on the implications of just that. Loki let out a soft sound, but didn’t move to touch him like he did before. That was probably for the best, considering, but Tony kind of wanted to be hidden behind those arms again.

 

“Your eyes aren’t white anymore… dude, can you _see_?”

 

“And a Dora the Explorer sticker for the man with the bow.”

 

“What?!” Came several voices at once, along with a great shifting of bodies as everyone moved closer to inspect him. _Now_ Loki grabbed him, with the same protective grip around his chest as he did back in the gross apartment that was _not_ Loki’s home. And of course, everyone froze when their attention was brought back to the heart of the problem. It didn’t help that he was making a sort of hissing noise like a cornered animal, and that his hands were actually resting on top of Tony’s reactor. It probably looked bad. They should probably move.

 

“To-ony… what’s going on?” Steve asked slowly, inching closer with a hand out. 

Nope. He didn’t feel like moving now, he was a rebel, and they’ve pissed him off for the last time.

 

“Well, let’s see,” he began, thoughtfully tapping his fingers along Loki’s arm as if they were just another part of him. “A whole lot that you don’t know. Where do I start? Hmm…”

 

“Stark,” Thor warned from his left, giving him an unimpressed look. Tony flashed his teeth at him. It wasn’t a smile. 

 

“How about this: Once upon a time, there was a big ol’ group called SHIELD who—“

 

Clint interrupted, “We know this.”

 

“Shut up, it’s story time,” Tony snapped, and then continued on in the same dreamy voice. “So SHIELD wanted some tests done to their new fangled magic weapons they ‘acquired’. They also wanted new weapons for themselves, but oh, they _promised_ they would be non-lethal only. They even made up their own shiny contract for me to sign, and didn’t realize that _Genius_ meant ‘Not stupid enough to sign a contract made by people who miss-used my technology before’. So, being the _genius_ I was, I read the fine print. All 200 pages of fine print, and when I got to the part where it said, ‘Weapons will be modified and used for lethal force if necessary’, I _kindly_ put the contract down and said ‘Fuck off.’

 

And that’s when a part of my history becomes ‘classified’ and I can’t actually talk about it, because a little black bar will appear in front of my mouth or maybe my heart will explode. I wouldn’t put it past them to have snuck in a bomb in my chest somewhere.”   
  
He paused and gave Natasha a knowing glare.

 

“But I can tell you, they got what they wanted in the end, and I will _never_ forgive them for the price they set. And yeah, I’m a good guy, I went and I tinkered and I tested and I made them their damn weapons. They were almost done, too… When Rogers here wanted to come in and bitch at me about them, blaming me for the most recent bout of violence—that, of course, had SHIELD’s name carefully kept off record—and lo and behold, something blew up. I mean, other than Rogers, I mean the weapons. They fucking blew up. Right in my face…”

 

Loki’s arms tightened around him and Tony could feel all the regret in them that he never expected to feel. Loki didn’t do regret—well, he did, like he said, when it was for something useful or whatever he meant. But he did, apparently, have enough guilt in him somewhere that he apologized—a little—and was now the only one standing at his back while the team he had done his best for were staring at him like he had finally lost it. Literally and figuratively. 

 

“I didn’t understand,” Bruce said, “And I should have, because I _know_ SHIELD. I should have known there was something wrong there. You made it clear you wouldn’t build anyone weapons anymore, and then the next day you leave the tower to go build them weapons. I didn’t even… I didn’t even think about it, I just—“

 

“Judged me?”

 

Bruce nodded sadly and took off his glasses to clean them with the corner of his pajama tops. Tony shrugged when the man looked back up, and looked over at Steve.

 

“What, nothing to say? Oh, _I'm sorry_ , does this story not fit into the little role for me that you’ve got set up in that mind of yours? Should I apologize since I didn’t turn out to be the selfish, murdering asshole you wanted me to be, just so you had an excuse to hate me as much as I hate you?”

 

Steve choked and clenched his fists. “I don’t hate you, Stark.”

 

“Oh stop, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Tony snapped. “So what is this, then? What gave you the right to turn JARVIS off— _how_ did you even turn him off? I never told that code to anyone.”

 

“I did it,” Natasha said from the back, looking as unfazed as ever. “I sent in a virus. He should be fine, though, if you turn him back on.”  
  
“And you thought that was okay?”

 

“We think… _thought_ that Loki had control over you. I evaluated the situation, thought it called for it.”

 

“So-o, Clint was your little spy.I’m assuming found something that hinted to Loki—What was it? A leather thong?”

 

Clint scoffed and shook his head. “Sorry, Tony, but I left a camera in the bag of fruit I gave you last time.”

 

“I’m more pissed at you than Steve, which is a near impossibility,” Tony snarled, jabbing a finger at him. “I _trusted_ you, Barton.”

 

“You were acting weird! You didn’t leave your damn apartment, you didn’t want to see us or talk to us. Hell, you even _talked_ differently, and then there was the throwing up and you were fucking pale, man.” Clint shook his head more, looking miserable. “I remember that feeling, Tony, and you looked as bad as I felt. I just… wanted to be sure. Ever since Thor came back telling us Loki was on the loose, I’ve been a little… paranoid.”

 

“I have no more need of you,” Loki chimed in at just the wrong point with just the wrong fucking thing to say. Because that was _so_ reassuring, if Clint’s death glare was any clue. 

 

“Loki,” he said, turning just enough to glare over his shoulder. “ _Shut up._ Clint, you’re still full of shit. Next time, just smash me on the head, it’ll feel better.”

 

“We aren’t full of shit, you have been acting like an asshole since—“

 

Tony’s mouth twitched into a nasty grin and he pulled against Loki’s arms to get free. 

 

“Since _what_? Since SHIELD _blinded_ me? Since I was stuck in the hospital for months? Or maybe since no one visited me but you, ironically, or that Pepper ditched me the second she heard about what I was doing, or was it maybe, just maybe, the way _all_ of you treated me like I was some broken down loser who needed a pity job and some pancakes? Did you ever think that maybe I could handle it just fine? I made a device, you know, that helped me see, and I didn’t even want to tell you, because I just knew what you guys would say, how you would pat me on the back like some 12-year-old kid at the science fair. 

 

‘Good job, Tony!’

 

‘Wow, look, you’re slightly less useless. Why don’t you take up that job we offered out of unfounded sympathy and complete lack of understanding?’

 

Because, you know, no one even asked me what _I_ wanted.”

 

Steve opened his mouth and shut it the second Tony sent a glare his way. 

 

“Oh wait, it’s never _your_ fault when I act like an asshole to you, it’s all on me. My bad, I should ‘use my words’ right? Well here’s some words for you, from the bottom of my heart: Fuck. You.” 

 

He sneered and pushed back into Loki again, the heat of his anger slowly ebbing into something bitter and cold. 

 

_Fuck, come back, I need to be pissed. I can’t deal with this without anger._

 

_“But are you angry?”_ the voice teased, and Tony no longer had the energy to answer.

 

“You know, I almost forgot what betrayal felt like,” he muttered, but in the silent room, his broken voice was loud.  


* * *

 

  
The pause after his rant was both agonizing and a little embarrassing. He’d shown his hand, or rather, his mask had fallen off and his emotions were all over the place. On full display in front of a bunch of people he no longer trusted or even liked right now. 

 

Plus, the mixed up versions of them from both his and Loki’s eyes was really starting to get to him. He felt a little sea-sick, especially when someone moved and Loki would track their movement while Tony was quite comfortable with not moving at all. 

 

“I apologize for any assumptions I made,” Thor said, out of the blue. “But I fear you have not answered any questions pertaining to my brother’s appearance here and his… unusual attachment.” 

 

Tony huffed. ‘Unusual attachment’ indeed. Like he needed a reminder that Loki only needed him as a tool, even if he wasn’t going to kill him apparently. Even if he was a warm, comforting weight against his back and Jesus, how was he so calm with that asshole’s hands hovering right over his reactor? How did they get this far after he’d been so pissed at Loki for what he did to him? He had every right to turn around and punch him in his face right now. But, he didn’t want to, and Loki had never ripped the reactor out of his chest. Even if Tony had given him the chance every single night for the past few weeks.

 

“ _Suicidal.”_

 

 _Fuck off._  
  
Tony looked up and was glad, at least, that his outburst had distracted the team enough to keep them from trying to ‘save’ him like they almost did when Loki first grabbed ahold of him. Most of them had their deep-thought faces on, sans Natasha because she never expressed anything freely that she didn’t _want_ you to see. Bruce, for the most part, looked like he’d already gone through the self-evaluation and was now sitting on the couch with a nice, calm smile on his face. Oddly enough, it didn’t piss Tony off. Probably because it was Bruce, and no matter how hurt he was when the guy abandoned him at the hospital, they kind of understood one another. If he needed to go to his Zen happy place to handle this, he was allowed.

 

_Smile away, brother of science, smile away._

 

Tony jumped when Loki’s voice filled the room, “Shall I begin _my_ story, then?”

 

That seemed to rouse the group, and everyone was all distrustful and annoyed again. Hooray. 

 

But, Loki didn’t seem to care. At all. 

 

In fact, he moved around Tony until he was standing next to him, rather than acting like Tony was his human-meat shield. The god leaned, just enough so that their shoulders touched, and began to address the stony, unwelcoming faces before them.

 

* * *

 

 

“You do not care of my suffering, nor my explanations of how I came to be in your realm with such an army. You care not for my reasoning, my dreams, my life before I came here. So I shall not waste our time on such things.”

 

Loki paused, gaze sliding from one mortal to the other. None of them disagreed, and there was no surprise there. Even Anthony had little interest in the ‘why’ of the matter, but more of the ‘how’. Perhaps one day he will listen, but Loki sincerely doubted it, now. Not when he was free, no longer crippled and in need of a steady hand on his back. 

 

As if hearing his thoughts, Stark shifted to his left, pressing their arms together even more. 

 

' _Perhaps I am wrong_ ,' he wondered.

 

“And so I will leave out a great deal, and save you the opportunity to share your doubts that I, too, can _feel_ ,” he continued bitterly. Loki looked down at his hands, raising them to flex his fingers slowly. They felt fine, but hours, minutes, seconds away from Anthony, and the bones would be crushed, the skin would stretch, the tendons would snap. “I was held without my magic, locked away with no words or skill to draw even the smallest of spells. Or, so they thought…”

 

He looked up with a smirk. 

 

“I knew my power was hidden away in a body, and that to reach it again, I would have to tear free the locks set in place by my mother, and place the power in another. So, I used my blood, smeared in clumsy runes on the cell floor, to create a key. A conduit for my magic. It would be like a doorway, too small for me to slip through myself, but enough to bathe—just a little—in the warmth of my magic again. This was the source of your explo—“

 

“This is why he’s here, because I’m the key guy,” Anthony interrupted, the hand once pressed against his, gripping his fingers painfully. “ _Right_ after the explosion, he turned me into a bug light for wizards.”

 

“That is not what—“

 

“Okay, a bug light for this guy here, Mothra,” Anthony said, flashing a sharp smile with eyes that plainly said, “ _Shut up_.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Loki turned to see the beast—Banner?—addressing him with nothing but curiosity.

 

“What it means—“ Loki frowned and glanced down again. “What I thought it meant, was that I would be free. I could simply access the conduit, pull the power through it and back into myself, and finally leave. Of course, I was wrong, and after my escape I found at the end of the trial… a man.”

 

The hand squeezed his fingers again, but Loki ignored him. He was not about to explain to them how he stole some of Stark’s power before he was locked away, or how, exactly, he accessed it. He did not want any further reservations on their part, and, in all honestly, they simply didn’t deserve to know. 

 

“So why didn’t you suck him dry?” The arched asked.

 

“I—couldn’t…”

 

“Why not?”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes on the man. “I tried, trust me, I tried. But the spell rejected me, and I first assumed that I did not have enough of his blood.”

 

“What?!” Anthony shrieked. “Thor! You said he _wasn’t_ trying to kill me.”

 

Thor had the decency to look guilty as he shrugged. “I said he was not attempting such… currently.”

 

“And whyyyyyy not?” the archer asked again. 

 

“I… need him. If we part, we will die.”

 

“Hence the barfing extravaganza you walked in on last time,” Stark added helpfully. 

 

The man on the couch leaned forward, frowning at the both of them. “What? You’re _dying_?”

 

“Only if we part.”

“Only if this jerk leaves.”

 

“ _How_ are you dying?”

 

“Uh…” Stark paused, looking up at Loki before answering. “Radiation poisoning for me, courtesy of SHIELD. I’m not sure what happens to Loki.”

 

“Starvation, both physical and magical.”

 

Anthony’s lips formed a small ‘o’ of surprise as the rest of the room filled with unhappy voices. There was disbelief, promises to save Stark from his fate, threats of tests or separation, confusion, anger. It was a chaos Loki would usually revel in, but all he could think about was that one simple question. 

 

“ _Why_?”

 

Why did he not kill him the second he walked into that hospital room, the moment he knew the mortal was weak, blinded, so easy to destroy? Why did he need to know how he was harmed, or spend precious time with him, or try to make him laugh, even then? Long before Loki had changed his plans, long before those comfortable nights of rest, their fights, the kisses that had stopped when Loki had told him what he had done.

 

_Why_?

 

‘ _Because I need him’_ , Loki thought. ‘ _Because he gives me what little power I have. Because I can still kill him at any time, and free myself of this bond._

 

_Because he touches me without flinching, even when my skin is blue and cold. Because he fought so hard to stand on his own, and asks for so little in return.’_

 

 

 

_‘Because you ran out of excuses to kiss him weeks ago,_ ’ the voice reminded him.

 

And someone was yelling now—Thor—others shouting back, angry as ever. But Thor was there, protecting him for the first time in years. Standing, hammer raised, between the Avengers and the little bubble of silence between him and Anthony, and Loki found he could not care what his brother was doing right now. Because Anthony continued to stare up at him, one eye closed to keep the double vision at bay, but the other, so bright, unquestioning, and—

 

_Why?_

 

“Ah… I should really find out,” Loki whispered, and pulled him in for a kiss that he had no excuse for, whatsoever. 

 


	14. I Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's not convinced that Loki's telling the full truth about his intentions, here, and he's not either, really, so whatever. 
> 
> But then, there's shit, and it hits the fan, and they don't even have the time to talk about it, anyway.
> 
> And Loki's hands are breaking.  
> And Tony's sick.
> 
>  
> 
> When things go bad, they go really, really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now is the time to start tying in other stuff. :D Keep an eye on the tags as this goes along. 
> 
> I would like to take a moment to say: I promise Team Avengers are not going to be turds about this forever. They're dealing as best they can with what little information they have, and Tony hasn't exactly been the easiest to get along with when he's gone all bitter-butt. 
> 
> [Sorry, not edited yet.]

 

 

Once, about a _million_ years ago, Tony had been sitting on the roof—where he was absolutely not allowed to be—drinking a cola, stuffing cucumber sandwiches into his mouth, and enjoying the spring breeze that had finally begun to blow warm, rather than freezing-ice-cold. He was barefoot, which was something else a Stark _never_ was, and his clothes were a mess of oil stains, wood shavings, and a general lack of buttoning. It was everything he wasn’t suppose to be, at least, not when there was a Spring Party going on down stairs. But he had slowly begun to rebel from what he was expected to do, for things like this that he needed to do. Just a few moments for himself, not in the name of Stark.

 

Warm, comfortable, _reckless_. 

 

Not even Howard’s silent anger later that night, or Maria’s gentle disappointment could ruin it for him. It was perfect, and Tony couldn’t say that about a lot of things in his life.

 

Except, maybe, for this stupid kiss. 

 

Which was, incidentally, also warm, comfortable, and reckless. 

 

 

“Well then,” he murmured against the god’s lips, pulling back for the breath of air that he desperately needed. Winded by a simple kiss, he was getting old. Opening one eye, he studied the pale face before him, admiring the hint of a flush creeping up Loki’s cheeks. “Hi there. Any reason for that or are we just going to go with ‘making trouble’?” 

 

“Stark!” Someone yelled.

 

“What is going on!?” Someone else yelled.

 

Another was saying, “Thor, would you move, just—“ which dragged Tony back from warm, spring breezes and reckless behaviors to the reality where he just revealed himself to the entire team, and then some. 

 

“No fathomable reason, I assure you,” the god replied in turn, eyes bright with amusement. 

 

Tony was already opening his mouth to berate him for causing fucking chaos, as usual, when someone pushed him. It was Thor, looming over them both with a confused glare on his face.

 

“This was not what I expected when you told me of your bond with Loki’s magic,” he growled, glancing back over his shoulder where Clint was standing, bow drawn, arrow notched. Natasha was standing next to him simply taking everything in with her usual calculating stare. Bruce was somewhere—who knew—probably cleaning his glasses and sighing at the bunch of children he had on his team. Tony pitied him for a second, before remembering that he was probably the most obnoxious of them all, and _sorry Bruce_.

  

“Clint, put that damn thing away!” Tony yelled past Thor’s armpit—never getting _that_ close again, thank you—and darted back behind the bulk of his red cape to avoid anymore close-to-the-head arrow incidents, again. Sparing Loki a quick grin, he pulled the god closer to him and continued to back down the hall with Thor as a giant meat-shield. “Now, Sweetums, I don't think your little impromptu kiss helped the situation much. Correction: At _all_.”

 

“I shan't stand there and behave as something I am not,” Loki muttered, glancing back at Thor who was doing some sort of dance to keep himself between the angry, startled group and them. Tony really should thank him, really. “Anyway, it was worth Thor’s discomfort.”

 

“Not worth anything else, then?”

 

Loki turned and gave him the most brilliant smile. Wide, almost goofy, and without the nasty edge to it Tony had seen—well, back when he last could see properly. It did things to him, unfamiliar feelings-things. Tony was _really_ glad he could see, again.

 

“Oh no, it was worth _so_ much more,” Loki insisted, that sneaky grin making it hard to take him seriously.

 

Tony continued down the hallway until they reached the first room with a lockable-door and pushed Loki in. The god grunted with irritation, but allowed himself to be manhandled through the door. 

 

“Thanks, Thor! I’ll leave the rest up to you!” He called out, pleased to hear another angry burst from pretty much everyone. As Tony closed the door, he peered back down the hall at the wriggling mass of unhappy people. He didn’t _hate_ them, really, he just kind of didn’t like them anymore. Or right _now_. Not that he was ever fond of Steve in particular, but he had allowed them all to move into the tower after their stellar teamwork and it helped that Clint was funny and Bruce was pure awesome to work with. 

 

 

But he had more important things to deal with than explaining what was going on to a bunch of already over-stimulated hero-people, and since Thor was offering to play body guard, he decided to deal with the one person who needed to explain himself to him. 

 

“How about we have an Honest Hour?” he asked, turning to look up at the god who had begun snooping as soon as Tony had turned away. “Er, maybe not an hour. I don’t think we’ll need an hour for this, but we do need to talk. Or, actually, you need to talk, because you always half ass these explanation things and it’s been months, Loki, months since this shit started—whatever this is—and I can’t deal with that anymore. I need labels, I need a little organization, _then_ we can make a mess out of it, okay?”

 

“You wish to do this _now_?” Loki asked, dropping the snow glob he had picked up and glared at while Tony spoke. “Right here, with your friends chomping at the bit?”

 

“Hey, who kissed who here? You started it, and who the hell says ‘chomping at the bit’ anymore? What is a bit? That’s a horse thing, right? Or dogs… no, horses, I remember my five days of riding school before they asked Howard to never let me return again.”

 

Loki tilted his head, lips twitching with humor. “Well then, I believe it is your turn since I ‘honestly’ kissed you. How about a game?”

 

“Game, game, game… okay, sure, at least until someone kicks down the door,” Tony said, shuffling over to the bed and dusting off the sheets before plopping himself down. Obviously, people only used this room once in a blue moon. He wondered about the snow globe.

 

“Okay, honest hour, part one: I also thought that mattered… _more_.” 

 

Loki raised an eyebrow from across the room, wholly unimpressed. 

 

Tony glared past Loki’s shoulder and gritted out, “ _Fine_. I liked it, the kiss. A _lot_. Not just as some sort of contact-bullshit that you’ve been trying to pull over me since you moved in here. I liked the way you tasted, I like what you did with your tongue, I liked the fact that you did it in front of them, I like that you did it to me…”

 

Loki’s expression had gone weird, and Tony feared—for a short moment—that the dark-haired god would turn and run. But, he didn’t. He crept closer, inch by inch, until he was staring down at Tony, using his hight to take control of the situation and turn it back on Tony. 

 

“Ah, I see,” he said slowly. “So you accepted my touch even though you knew it was not because of the bond? How charming. Is there a reason for this, or are you simply starved for touch?”

 

“Fuck you, firstly, and also, too bad, it’s your turn to answer. Why did you just kiss me in front of them? At that exact moment. Right then, and the way you did it, that wasn't some friendly peck on the lips.”

 

Loki seemed to ponder his question calmly, but Tony had a feeling he was just floundering to try to find nice, flowery words to dance his way around Tony’s question, like he usually did. 

 

Superfluous bastard. 

 

After another long moment of angry voices in the background, Loki cleared his throat and met his eyes with no shame, “I wanted to make a point.”

 

“To them?”

 

“To myself… to you, perhaps.”

 

“And the point was… what?”

 

Loki smirked and shoot his finger at Tony. “No, no. It is your turn again, I believe. Why did you lie to them?”

 

“You’ve got to be more specific,” Tony answered, looking over Loki’s shoulder. He knew damn well what he meant, but that was one of those things he had hoped to avoid talking about or looking at too closely. “I lied a few times just now, and like, a thousand times before now.”

 

“About the explosion… You hid my involvement in it, the fact that it was I who caused your injury.”

 

Tony turned to make a face at him, because come _on_ , leave it alone. “Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure telling them that you’re partially—possibly wholly, who knows—responsible for nearly killing me and blinding me for nearly a year, and then binding me to you with some spell to escape, meaning I technically helped in your escape, isn’t going to go over really well with them right now. That, and they would instantly jump on it as another reason to drag you off to a dark alley somewhere and kick you until you pee blood.”

 

“It was my fault, though. You have every reason to—”

 

“It was exploding before the spell-thing connected,” Tony reminded him, opening his other eye and humming when he saw himself in Loki’s eyes. It was still weird. Probably forever weird. “Besides, it’s undermining the good stuff like the fact that you just gave my eyesight back, which we haven’t even explained to them yet because _someone_ decided to kiss me instead.” He paused and asked his question, “Were you really going to kill me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Tony flinched. He had a feeling that had been true, this was Loki, after all. But it still sucked and Loki was as blunt as Thor’s wit when he decided to be honest. 

 

“But I am glad the spell failed to work,” Loki amended, sounding guilty again, dragging a bitter laugh from Tony’s throat. For a god who claims he never feels guilt, he sure has a lot to throw around for Tony’s sake. Which leads back to the questions Tony was too scared to ask. 

 

_What is this?_

 

‘ _Ask him_ ,’ the voice whispered in response.

 

_No one asked_ you _, god damn._

 

“Alright, but I’m not so glad about the eye-sight spell working the way it’s working, which isn’t well,” he admitted, closing his eye before he threw up. Double vision was not fun. “Not that i’m blaming you, since obviously some shit went wrong there that was out of your control, but Honest Hour and all that. It sucks. For both of us, probably.”

 

Loki sat down at last, and pulled him closer, sliding his hands down to Tony’s lower back and leaving them there. One thumb was just brushing against the skin under his shirt, and that was enough to send a shiver up Tony’s spine and distract him from, oh, _everything_. 

 

“The spell was fighting me, and I know not why,” Loki replied, his gaze heavy with thought. “Both spells fought me and failed, first to break the bond and most likely kill you, and then the return of your sight. There is something else at work here, something drawing us together by any means necessary. Perhaps…” he bit his lip and glanced away. “Perhaps I am never meant to be free with my magic, and you were never meant to see again.”

 

“That seems kind of unfair, on both fronts.”

 

“It _is_ ,” Loki breathed.

 

“So, who do we have to kill to get this sorted out?”

 

“Ah, you forget, it is my turn to ask something,” Loki said, promptly ended that line of inquiry for the time being. Tony would have to get on that later, if there was a later. If the team didn’t call Fury—oh fuck, _Fury_.

 

“Wait, shit, hold on,” Tony babbled, pushing away from Loki and standing up. How the fuck had he forgotten about SHIELD and their monthly checkups on his health and overall stalker behavior? What if they already knew? His cameras were not hackable, he knew that, but then again, Natasha had shut JARVIS down and that was _supposed_ to be impossible too, private power source and all that jazz. 

 

“Shit… shit… _wait_ …”

 

And he was still down, so that meant his bug-blocking signals were off, which meant any resilient SHIELD spyware could potentially be online right now, or last night which meant someone could have heard the whole thing, and if not, well, there was always Captain-Ass-Kisser-America to do the telling.

 

“I am waiting,” Loki drawled, a hint of irritation in his voice. 

 

Tony whipped himself around, stepping up to Loki to study him in silence. The god stared back, bemusement fading to badly veiled concern. 

 

“Anthony, what is it?”

 

“There’s a huge possibility that we are about to be subjected to a stinking pile of shit-a-la-fan very, very soon.”

 

“I have no idea what you are saying,” Loki snapped, standing up and taking over with the whole hight thing again. “Are you imply we are about to encounter more trouble?”

 

“This,” Tony said, gesturing to the now silent door behind him,” was _not_ trouble, this was prom-queen sized trouble. I’m talking about the god damn queen of England facing nuclear attack kind of trouble and we need to get back out there, because at this rate, I don’t think Thor’s going to be enough meat-sheild to protect us.”

 

“Anthony, what is it that you think is going on?” Loki asked, drawing him closer in his arms. It felt nice, warm, comfortable, and not relaxing at all, considering the oncoming storm.

 

“I have no doubt in my mind that we are about ten—no,five—minutes away from a SHIELD raid, or something close, and both you and I are in a deep, pit of trouble if we don’t get more people on our team.”

 

“We don’t need them,” Loki growled, arms tightening around Tony. 

 

Tony sighed and shook his head. “Loki, Loki, Loki… you don’t get it, they already don’t trust me. They already locked me upfor months just because they thought I’d contracted some kind of Hulk-like thing from the chemical imbalances in my system. Months. Me, the icon of the hero world, locked up just because my blood is a little weird.”

 

“Your blood…?” Loki’s brow drew together sharply, and if there was time, Tony would have asked why the god looked so terrified because of that, of all things. But time was out for them.  


 

There was the tell-a-tale screech of a microphone connecting to a speaker, before someone's voice filled the entire building,“LOKI, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM, AND BRING STARK WITH YOU.”

 

_Shit, meet fan._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Several of his fingers were already broken by the time they came for him. Loki told himself he shouldn't mind it because, after all, he had suffered them crushed for many months before his escape. But time had passed, and he had grown comfortable and overconfident in Stark’s presence, with no more pain or fear haunting his every hour. Only a few moments had passed where Loki had spent too much time away, and something had begun to break. But that was months ago, by now, and one can never truly forget the pain, especially when it’s seeped in betrayal. 

 

“Loki, nice of you to come back to Earth,” the Agent said, dropping a file of papers down in some pathetic attempt to shock Loki awake. He was awake, but he found that closing his eyes brought him closer to a sense of calm as another, and another bone slowly cracked. 

 

“Thank you for the kind welcome,” he drawled, remembering too late to open his eyes slowly, and getting assaulted by a mix of images. 

 

_Ah, of course, there is Anthony’s view. How curious._

 

“You’re not welcome here, actually,” The agent said, still pacing around the table. He was obviously attempting to use the same tactics Loki used on Stark—possibly too often—by using the fact the he is standing, and Loki is not as some sort of intimidation. It was not working.

 

“Clearly, if this is the sort of treatment you give your guests, I worry deeply for the state of your diplomatic affairs. 

 

_A dark room, so little light. No one is interrogating Stark. The room flickered. He seems to be blinking a lot._

 

Shaking his head, Loki bit back a hiss of irritation. Something was very wrong, he could smell it in the air. Why wasn’t the Director here? Clearly this was a high priority, seeing as they did, in fact, raid the tower with as many men as possible. And yet, here he was with some pawn, some _ant_ —Loki smirked to himself—and Stark was left alone. Why?

 

“—Are you listening to me?”

 

Loki looked up at the Ant, and gave a small, curious tip of his head. “Were you speaking, I thought it was the wind blowing.”

 

Oh, how easily the ant rose to the bait, sharp words spitting forth from his mouth, papers being shuffled, photograms of destruction shoved under this nose. And Loki, he simply let them wash over him. The words and images were meaningless, he would not be hurt by such nonsense when spoken from one who knew _nothing_ about him. Their judgment was boring, and the mystery of Stark’s current holdings much more fascinating. 

 

Loki closed his good eye, blocking of the view of his red-faced interviewer in favor for Anthony’s current perspective. The other room slowly slid into better focus, well, as much as possible. Everything was skewed and blurry, the walls looming, the dim lights growing distant. Then, Anthony moved his head, and Loki’s heart throbbed painfully. 

 

Shivering limbs came into view, wrists strapped down so tightly it looked painful. Now there was someone with him, someone tilting Anthony’s head so he could vomit over the side of the table. 

 

At the same time, another bone broke with a loud snap, jarring Loki back to his own predicament. 

 

‘ _We are running out of time_ ,’ Loki thought, closing his eye on Stark’s suffering. If he wished to alleviate it, he needed to remove himself from this Ant. 

 

“I wish to speak to the Director,” he snapped, leveling the man with a cool glare. “Now.”

 

“Well tough luck, Fury has more important things to focus on right now.”

 

“And what, pray tell, could be more important than me? Surely not Stark.”

 

“No,” the agent admitted, his expression much too smug for Loki’s comfort. “Stark is scheduled for some Cognitive Recalibration, thanks to you.”

 

Loki snarled, “He is _not_ under anyone’s control.”

 

“Of course _you_ would say that. He certainly has some issues, for someone supposedly in his right of mind.” The Agent picked up a smaller file and flipped through it lazily. “Let’s see… First, he refuses to help SHIELD with a new project. Then, he makes a massive mistake, nearly costing the lives of over 200 members of our staff—“ Loki hissed under his breath, but the man continued over him, “Then there’s the tests, costing thousands of dollars of our money… oh, and then there’s you.”  
  
A question about the blood is on the tip of Loki’s tongue, but now was not the time, nor was this the person to ask. Anything that could allude to Loki’s interest in Anthony’s anatomy would only cause more problems, especially if they were wiling to likely cause brain damage in one of the most brilliant men in the realm with no proof that he is under any sort of control. 

 

“When did you first make contact with Mr. Stark?”

 

“I wish to speak to the Director.”

 

“You’re not worth his time,” the agent spat, slamming the files on the table, once again. “When did you infiltrate Stark’s life? Why are you here?”

 

“I will answer to no one but the Director.”

 

“Then I guess you don’t mind if you lose your little puppet?”

 

“He is _not_ my puppet, and I _will_ speak to Director Fury, and no one else.”

 

The man fell silent, and still, he was so _annoyingly_ smug. What could he possibly have to give him such confidence? Sure, Loki wasn’t up and leaving as he very well could have if he was in peak condition, but they did not know that. Surely, they didn’t know. Besides, his slowly breaking hands were bound in simple shackles, hidden under the table, there was no way they could see the damage that their distance was causing. So what in the Nine, could it _be_?

 

Stark was throwing up again, and the vision in Loki’s eye grew blurry before everything faded to black. Loki cursed, closing his one useless eye. Now he was truly cut off, no way of knowing if the man was hurt, or being moved further away. Their time, was quickly running out. 

 

Another finger snapped, the warm blood pooling in his lap as the bone stabbed through the skin. 

 

Loki almost considered saying, ‘please’, but something was wrong here. 

 

‘ _Real power_ ,’ the voice muttered.

 

There was no feasible way that man would miss his chance to be here, towering over Loki himself. Not unless said man was somehow incapable of being here, which meant that this agent, either did not know where Fury was, or someone was conducting this investigation right under the Director’s nose. 

 

“ _Where_ is Director Fury?” Loki asked one more time, studying the man’s expression carefully—and _there_ , a twitch just under the left eye. Distain, lies, not the characteristics of a loyal Ant at all. 

 

“You are no agent,” Loki spat, a sliver of concern creeping up his spine. He was vulnerable like this, separated from his conduit, hands broken and bound. 

 

“You’re wrong,” the man drawled, and leaned down face to face with Loki. “I am an agent, but not of SHIELD.”

 

Loki quickly opened his other eye, hoping to find some answer, or proof that Anthony was okay. Because he must be okay, they hadn’t even finished their Honest Hour. They haven’t even address what this was between then, and they must. He must. 

 

There was only the dark. Anthony was still unconscious, possibly already… _no_. 

 

No, he was not gone, Loki would have felt it. 

 

“What, then, are you agent of?” Loki managed, not letting an ounce of his inner turmoil to show on his face. He had come too far to lose to anyone, SHIELD or otherwise. 

 

The Agent grinned like a wolf, and pulled the collar of suit down to show a small, round tattoo. He said nothing, as if Loki was supposed to understand what it meant by simply looking. 

 

“You may notice I am unimpressed by your marking,” Loki remarked dryly, leaning back to get away from that all-too familiar grin. He had smiled like that, before. He knew what it took to get that _sharpness._

 

And it was nothing good.

 

“This, Loki of Asgard, is HYDRA.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

                                                                                           


	15. Something Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I spy with my little eye: Something red.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter really needs to be edited. ;_; sorry.

 

 

 

“We need to talk about this.”

 

“…”

 

“Look, I know you’re upset, Thor, you have every reason to be. But I swear I didn’t call them in, I wouldn’t do that to Tony, no matter how much he ticked me off.”

 

“Then how did they know to come here?” the god snapped in reply. “How did they even know of Loki’s presence in this realm? I never spoke to SHIELD about his escape because I came to _you_ in hopes of settling this with as little trouble as possible.”

 

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again with a snap. What could he possibly say?Thor had trusted him, and this was how his trust was repaid. Even if he _didn’t_ call Fury and he had no idea how SHIELD knew what was going on, this was on the team. On _him_. 

 

Of course, his first assumption was that Natasha or Clint had reported to Fury as soon as they discovered Loki in the tower, but they had looked as surprised as he felt when the elevator rang out and half an army of men in tactical gear came barreling into the room. Even more surprising, Director Fury, Coulson, and Agent Hill were no where in sight during the entire raid. Everything about the operation felt shifty from the moment the entered, but there was too much going on at once for Steve to stop and think about what felt wrong about the whole thing. Of course, it only got worse when Loki started trying to fire this blue energy stuff at them while snarling and pacing in front of Stark like a crazed animal. 

 

At least he seemed to be protecting Tony, rather than hurting him. ‘Seemed’ being the key word. 

 

_Well, he was_ kissing _Loki, after all_ , he thought. That was… Steve needed more time to process that part. 

 

 

They had captured both Tony and Loki quickly, and with more efficiency than one would expect, considering Thor’s bellowing rage as they slipped cuffs around Loki’s wrists. They were gone with a simple nod and a ‘thanks’, leaving a thundering sky above and a tension strong enough to stand on. And Steve, he hated being on the wrong side of Thor’s anger. He was a teammate, a good friend, they should trust each other. Well, Thor _had_ trusted him, and now… now Thor thought Steve betrayed him by handing his brother over to SHIELD. The worse part was, It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered it. Thor had come to him, miserable and confused, to talk about his troubles. To _him_ , no one else, and sure, he’d thought about contacting Fury to round up some agents for the search. But Thor had made it painfully clear that he felt Loki had suffered enough, and maybe he was right. Steve didn’t know anything about magic, but he would never forget the feeling of losing a part of you. No one deserved to have something so important taken away, least of all for punishment. Justice was served the good old fashion way,a real trial and imprisonment . Not what they did on Asgard. 

 

 

“Thor,” he said, reaching his decision. He wasn’t going to let things lie. Reaching out to the god and squeezing his arm, Steve gave Thor a small smile. “Come with me, we’re going to talk to Natasha about this and see what we can do. She has a direct line to Fury, which she either used to call them about Loki, or can use _now_ to find out what they’ve done with him and Tony.”

 

For a moment, Steve was sure the god would pull away, but the anger in his eyes simmered down to something more sad and resigned. He wasn’t sure if that was better.

 

“If she caused this, I would like to know how she came to know of Loki’s presence without my knowledge, and why was the last to hear of these suspicions, Captain.”

 

Steve gave his arm another squeeze before letting go to give the god some space. Thor didn’t seem to be the ‘touchy-feely type’, as Bucky used to call it. 

 

“I didn’t know what was going on, either,” he admitted, looking at his phone as an excuse to avoid this gaze. He frowned as a forth message popped up from Natasha. She had been sending them since Steve brought Thor down to his floor before he exploded. 

 

“I just thought…” He paused, looking up and grinding his teeth. “God, I thought Tony was being his usual self, I didn’t even stop to consider that there might be more to it than that.”

 

And he really hadn’t. Not until Clint had walked into the common room with a tablet in hand, expression grim, and said:

 

_“Tony’s been compromised.”_

 

_“What do you mean?” he asked, setting down his book and standing up._

 

_“I only checked because Tony hasn’t left the penthouse in weeks, not even for food, and the last time I was there I saw his cane, broken and left up on a shelf… way too high up for him to reach.”_

 

_“What does that even mean? What are you implying?”_

 

_Clint smiled bitterly, and held up the tablet for him to see. “I’m not implying anything, I’m saying, Tony’s been compromised.”_

 

_And there, on the screen, was a perfectly crisp image of Loki stretching out on the bed next to their teammate who was smiling and laughing and snuggling the very god he’d fought all that time ago._

 

 

“I think we need more intel,” he muttered to himself. 

 

“I believe you are right. But if I find that one of my own friends has betrayed my trust like this, I will be most displeased.”

 

“Of course.”Steve nodded, expecting nothing else, and lead the way back to the elevator. 

 

It was not surprising to find what was left of the team spread out in Tony’s living room. No one had left after SHIELD’s departure, but Steve had the distinct feeling one or both of the spies had snooped around the suite. It was interesting to see so much anger in Bruce’s eyes as he glared across the room at Thor, of all people. 

 

“When were you going to tell us he was here?” the scientist asked as soon as they walked in. 

 

“I would have as soon as I was more sure of his location, and not a moment sooner,” Thor replied, another roll of thunder emphasizing his own anger. 

 

“And you thought that was wise, keeping this from us? What was it, you didn’t trust us not to kill him, or something?”

 

Thor shifted, and Steve had a horrible feeling he was about to see a thunder god and a very unhappy Hulk fight in a moment. 

 

“You see where my trust has gotten me and my brother,” he growled. 

 

“No,” Bruce denied sharply, “I don’t see. You didn’t trust us, and this happened. Maybe if you had, this wouldn’t have happened and now Tony’s caught up in all this.”

 

“Then tell me, Banner, who was it who betrayed them to Fury!?”

 

“Well it wasn’t me,” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes and around him, the air practically vibrated. It was time for Steve to step in.

 

“Guys, hold on a minute, okay? Before this gets messy.”

 

“It’s already a mess,” Natasha commented, leaning forward to study Thor with her usual passiveness. “Thor, none of us called it in. JARVIS has been down since we tried to confront them the first time, so there’s been no cameras, no audio recording, no signals going in or out of the building that we know of. You can even check our cell phones if you want.”

 

Thor was obviously startled by her offer, and dithered for a moment between Bruce’s glare and Natasha’s open offer of trust. 

 

“Do you speak for all?” he asked at last, inching towards her as though she might bite. Steve noticed that he didn’t take the phone, and a small swell of… something rose in him. They were trusted again—a little.

 

“We talked about it while you were downstairs… cooling down. Bruce doesn’t even have a cell phone right now, since he broke the last one, and Clint and I have both of ours here if you want to see them.”  
  
Clint nodded from her left and held up his phone for Thor’s inspection.

 

Thor eyed him and mumbled darkly, “You spied on them.”

 

“I was worried about Tony, okay? I didn’t expect Loki, of all people, to be in there. I still don’t know how to feel about that. Not good, that’s for sure.”

 

“He has changed,” Thor assured him.

 

“If that’s true, why are you even here to look for him? Aren’t you aiming to capture and bring him back to Asgard?”

 

“I… It is by my father’s commend. I cannot simply let him go.”

 

“So, you _are_ here to bring him back,” Natasha repeated. “Just, against your will.”

 

Thor simply nodded, glancing to his right at Steve who had no idea what to say to that. He wasn’t good with family issues, especially family issues of this magnitude. 

 

“So…” he began, looking around at the others. “If no one here actually contacted the director, how did they know to come here? Actually, where _was_ Fury? You’d think he would be the first in line to get Loki.” He winced and added to Thor, “No offense.”

 

“I am well aware of his dislike for my brother, I know many of you share the sentiment.”

 

Clint gave him a look and replied, “I think all of us do.”

 

“Not Tony, apparently,” Bruce added with an odd smile. Thor looked to him with confusion, one hand picking at the seam of his cape as he stood in an awkward silence. He seemed to have thoughts on that whole thing he wasn’t willing to share just yet, so Steve turned back to Natasha and Clint. 

 

“Can you guys contact Fury and ask—subtly—if he had anything to do with this? I’m getting a bad feeling, here.”

 

“So am I,” she admitted, and dialed SHIELD.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He remembered thinking he was dead a few times in his life. Silly, really, because he was an Atheist and there wasn’t a heaven or hell or afterlife or whatever. So, the whole waking up and believing he was dead while seeing and feeling things was a real blow to his not-religious mind. Still, he did think it. Against his will. A _few_ times.

 

Like now. 

 

Tony tried to speak, but seriously, there was, like, nothing left of his esophagus. He was having trouble breathing, too, which didn’t help with the trying to speak problem. Something was up with his vision as well, and it took him a few solid minutes to remember that he had issues there. Wasn’t he blind?

 

No, he should see, right? 

Because Loki…

 

_Oh shit, Loki._

 

That was the thought that forced him up out the dark well of pain he’d not-so-comfortably settled in after his capture. And he called it ‘capture’, because that’s what it was. Not, ‘Hey, Stark, we need you to come in because you might be under some kind of mind control from that god dude standing next to you, who’s sort of spitting fire.’ No, he got full on tasered the second they left his penthouse, bag thrown over his head, hand cuffs, the works. And after that—oh boy—after that, he was strapped to a god-damn table and left to rot. Quite fucking _literally_. 

 

“Hhhck… heelll…oo?” he managed, turning his head and trying to make out the room around him. He could still feel the straps over his body and limbs, in a sort of creepy, possibly sinking into his actual flesh kind of way. Tony decided not to think about that. Priorities. Wait, yes, he needed a list.

 

**Priorities** : 

 

1: Figure out where he was.

2: Figure out _why_ he was here.

3: Try moving?

4: Find Loki.

5:Run far, far way.

6:Send bags of shit to the Avenger’s tower for the next 20 years. 

 

Tony choked on a weak laugh, and it was gross and pathetic, but it was all he had. He tried a few more times to get someone’s attention, because seriously, why would they leave him alone like this? Fury, at least, should be gloating over him about his inability to keep himself safe, or be a hero, yadda yadda. 

 

After at least 12 attempts at using his gargley-words to get attention, he tried hitting the table with his hand. That was a no-go, considering the whole rotting thing and _no_ , he said he _wasn’t_ going to think about that. He tried looking around, and nope, everything was a mess. A blur. A blob. Worse yet, some of those blobs seemed to be moving, which scared the shit out of him until he remembered that he shared some eye-stuff with Loki. This meant the god was somewhere with other people, assuming that’s what those moving blobs were, and, well, he’s alive. So that was good. 

 

Other than that, Tony was stuck. He had no way of moving, not when even wiggling his toes seemed to be not on his list of options. He also had very little energy to begin with, his eyes were all fuzzy, which didn’t help him on his search for sharp implements, and the worst part of all? No one seemed to give a shit about him. And in all honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised. They had treated him the same way when the explosion happened. Locked him away in a quarantine zone, no human contact outside of a few angry voices through a speaker. At least last time they ran tests on him, he obviously meant something to them then. But now, he was… nothing. Not even worth a fucking guard. 

 

_Rude._

 

_Okay…_

 

**New list** : 

 

1: Don’t cry, who knows what it will do to you eyes.

2:Try to move??????

3:Maybe shout some more.

4:Shout obscenities, that will get someone eventually.

5:If shouting doesn’t work, flip the damn table over. You’re already falling apart, what’s the worse it could do?

 

_Kill me_ , he thought bitterly. 

 

This was really far from an ideal situation, and he hadn’t even begun to think about the implications of it all. Like how’d they know Loki was even there? Did the SHIELD bugs work, after all? If so, why weren’t they already in the tower the second JARVIS was shut down? And why the hell were they talking to Loki and torturing _him_?

 

_No offense, Loki, but I'm the super hero, you’re the sort of villain._

 

He should really try shouting things again, before his lungs collapsed. 

 

“H-hey… you’re mother… was a h-ha-hampster…” 

 

Nothing. 

 

“You s-should give up… on the p-pine fresh… nothing covers the… s-scent of trash.”

 

That didn’t make a lot of sense, but still, not a peep. 

 

“FUCKING ASSHOLES!” he screamed. And continued screaming until his throat flooded with what felt like— _shitbloodfuckchoking._

 

Coughing only seemed to make it worse. He was drowning, Jesus, he was drowning on his own blood. It was just so… pathetic. He was running out of time, like, ten minutes ago.

 

_Okay, calm down._

_Choking._

_Just need a_

 

**New plan** :

 

1: Don’t die

2: Stop shouting

3: Try to

 

 

 

3: Trrr…

 

3:

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki was still not convinced that he should be concerned about this ‘HYDRA’ nonsense, seeing as the man strutting before him was an absolute idiot. Honestly, an utter disappointment for so-called villains everywhere. 

 

To begin with, the tattoo, apparently designed to inspire fear in those who saw it, was not only so small it looked like some sort of skin disorder, but also was in such a painfully visible place that Loki just had to wonder if he always wore those high-necked sweaters for any and all espionage. What did he do in the heat? Would that not be suspicious, a man constantly wearing sweaters, or did the fact that the ugly little thing was so small it took him leaning over and breathing in your face for you to even see it protect his secret?  
  
On top of that, there was the bragging. All this droning on and _on_. The mortal would simply not. Shut. Up. As though Loki cared one bit about his plans to do such and such to whomever, and that his grand scheme would somehow help him rise in the ranks of this HYRDA. 

 

Clearly, he was ranked low for a reason. _Many_ reasons. 

 

“—and once we have obtained his technology, SHIELD will be running from me.” The man cleared his throat and amended, “From us. From HYDRA.”

 

Loki tilted his head back and blinked innocently at the man. “My apologies, I missed what you said. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

 

“I said, once we have obtained—“

 

“No, no. Much further back. In fact, you really should start over from the beginning.”

 

“You must be—“

 

“No, never mind, I don’t care about your ridiculous little p-plans,” Loki grunted, hunching forward as if in pain. Which, incidentally, was not all an act. At this point, his hands had become what Stark had fondly—yet not amusing at all—called ‘mush’. The bones in both hands had become nearly as compressed as they had been back in his cell on Asgard, which meant very soon Anthony would die. And here Loki was, out of time, magic, and absolutely done listening to this moron blather on and on. 

 

Right on cue, the agent strode over, puffed up in anger and looking for any opportunity to take it out on the already weakened god. They clearly knew nothing of Loki’s actual deterioration, otherwise they would have utilized it for their own purposes and what was that he had heard about technology? Stark’s inventions? Well then, they clearly knew nothing, if they were allowing him to rot away and die right under their over-sized noses. 

 

“You think you’re all that because you lead one, tiny attack on _one_ city?” the agent sneered, stepping behind Loki and placing his hands on his shoulders. Another intimidation technique, meant for smaller, weaker men. Meant for mortals. 

 

Loki kept his head low, grinning sharply behind the wall of hair hiding his face.

 

“One attack? Is that all you think I have done?”

 

“You lead one attack and _failed_ , Loki. You’re nobody now. Not even Asgard wants you, did you know that? Heard it down the grapevine in SHIELD the other day. Now, do know what that makes you?”

 

Those angry little fingers curled into his shoulders, digging in between the tendons and muscles in a way that would be painful if Loki was anyone else. Luckily, he was not. 

 

“A nightmare,” Loki replied, standing up and driving his head into the man’s nose. 

 

He fell back with a grunt, hands automatically going to his face rather than protecting himself. 

 

Loki hissed, “ _Fool_ ,” and brought both elbows down on to the man’s shoulders, dropping him to his knees. From there, it was a single knee to that lovely, bloodied nose, driving the already fracture bone directly into his brain and finally ending his incessant chatter once and for all. 

 

Finally alone, Loki let out a whimper of pain that he could not— _would_ not allow anyone else to hear. Because he was hurt, so deeply. It wasn't just his hands that broke every time they parted, but his magic, his core. And now, it had already been an hour apart from one another, much longer than they spent away the last time. Stark may already be…

 

Loki shuddered, and forced his left eye open. 

 

Darkness. 

 

Nothing had changed. 

 

‘ _Perhaps you are wrong_ ,’ the voice whispered, and Loki ran. 

 

“Hold,” he whispered, following the fading pull that led him to Anthony all those months ago. “Please hold on.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The phone in Natasha’s hand went dark as she let it drop from her ear, eyes wide with something Steve rarely ever saw in her features. 

 

“What is it? What’d he say?”

 

She looked down at the device, as if it might tell her something different, and shook her head.

 

“Lady Widow…” Thor began, a note of worry in his voice. 

 

“They don’t have them,” she interrupted. “SHEILD was never here.”

 

Steve felt his blood leave his body as he asked carefully, “what do you mean? Who was here, then?” 

 

“I think SHIELD’s been compromised,” Natasha said, dragging her gaze away from her phone and Steve recognized that look. It was fear. 

 

“And no one has any idea where Tony and Loki are.”

 


	16. Ashes Ashes, We all Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki doesn't fight bravely, he fights brutally. Especially when it's for something he's invested in. 
> 
> And, oh, he's definitely invested in Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [warnings for gore/graphic descriptions]

 

 

 

When he was still young and naive, Loki liked to dance. Not the stiff, slow moments of the ceremonial dances that left the hall feeling stagnant and dull, or the so-called ‘dancing’ that a _very_ drunk Thor performed on the dinner table far too many a time. Loki preferred something with more energy and less swaying dangerously while roaring about maidens and _hammers_.

 

 Loki preferred the Fire Dance. It was thing of beauty, with its leaps and splits, spinning, whirling, the danger. The beauty of each dancer not stopping for a moment, moving until nothing was left of their bodies but the music, bells, and fire. 

 

Loki _loved_ the fire. 

 

Of course, Odin never allowed his precious sons to perform or take any part in any of _that_ sort of entertainment. They were told to sit and watch with all the other Aesir while the lesser members of the audience often took a chance to join in the dance, daring burns and bruises with ale-induced bravado. If even the dancing girls were forbidden to touch the two princes without express permission, the Fae who danced with flames were even less likely to be allowed near them. But, just because something was not allowed, did not mean Loki—being who he was—didn’t do it anyway. 

 

After spending months of watching them dance during events, celebrations, and some trivial union or another, Loki finally stole a place for himself in the group late one summer night. The Fae accepted his presence in respectful silence, stepping out with him by their side and easily adapting a space for him to move between their bodies. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki caught the sharpening of one eye above all the rest, the stunned silence filled only with the soft tinkle of the bells around their ankles. It did not matter if his father protested, nor did the bemused smirk on Thor’s face convince him to stop. He was filled with a passion, and without a second’s thought for his safety or consequence, Loki danced. 

 

 

For many, many years afterward, Loki believed that nothing could ever compare to the power he felt that night. The flames curling around his body as he twisted in mid air, the single touch to the ground before he was up again, flipping with a jangle of bells from his ankles. He thought that nothing could fill his body with such purpose, such _energy_ ever again. It was freedom, that’s what it was. He did what Odin told him not to, which, in all honesty, wasn’t all that uncommon, but it was different that time. The Fire Dance was something he wanted for himself, something he took to with a hungry _need_. Something he worked for, and never again had anything been worth the love he had put into that dance.

  
Obviously, he was wrong, because something—rather, someone—had come along and stolen that fire from him. Plucked right from his heart, Anthony Stark took all of his effort, his need, and his energy. 

 

And there was no way in all the Nine Loki was going to let all his hard work be for nothing. That man was _his_. 

 

“HALT!” yet another heavily armed soldier screamed, barreling down the hall at full speed, weapon raised and ready. 

 

Loki’s boot caught him under the chin and sent those pretty, white teeth into his brain. He could almost hear the dancer’s bells in his head as he landed, crouched, and took off down the hallway. 

 

He was on fire. Heat was crawling through his veins, burning in his bleeding hands, beating like drums in his chest. It was his other favorite dance, with blood and rage each step of the way and as much as he enjoyed this carnage, he was driven buy a single purpose. He must go faster—so little time before Stark—

 

_I will arrive in time. There is no ending to this that I cannot control._

 

More chatter reached his ears, the sounds of metal against metal and a loud bark of orders echoed down the hallway. Ten—perhaps twenty men were around the corner. Twenty men between him and _his_ Anthony. 

 

Loki bared his teeth, and left the ground.

 

“Where is he?” 

 

“Where’d he—?” 

 

“Sir, we lost sight of—“ 

 

“ _Ants._ ”

 

Loki promptly crushed the face of the man under his boot with some long, overdue satisfaction. It may not be SHIELD, but it would have to suffice, for now. 

 

 From there, it was the simple matter of leaping from one head to another while they flailed around in confusion. No one was stupid enough to begin firing around at their comrades, but by the seventh crushed _ant,_ a hand darted out and yanked him down into the fray once again. They were on him like wild dogs, barks of laughter escaping behind masked faces with every blow that landed. Someone continuously drove their heavy boots into his ribs and tried to smash his face with the butt of their gun to no avail. Loki was no fool, he knew what to protect when brought tot he ground. But he had no time for this, he needed to get to Stark. _Now_. 

 

_You are closer to him_ , the voice whispered. 

 

_Not close enough to save Anthony._

 

_Close enough to save yourself_ , it reminded him. 

 

 

Loki’s eyes snapped open and—of course, _there_ it was. Right there, that growing heat in his chest was not only that burning need. It was his magic, and it was already beginning to heal his hands.

 

“Eheh… heh… eheheheh!” 

 

“Jesus, he’s lost it,” one of the men muttered, stepping back with a grimace. The one beside him swung his leg back for another kick, not caring that it would be his last. The second it made contact, Loki let his fire free to crawl up the solider’s leg and consume his body. 

 

“Jesuschristhe’s—!”

 

“GET IT _OFF_ ME!” 

 

“Just shoot him already!” 

 

Loki laughed, rising up with the flames. Soldiers were screaming, scrambling to turn their guns around to ‘just shoot him already’, while others ran. As they should. 

 

The one nearest to him, stranded in some sort of shock, was whimpering, “Oh God Oh God, oh God, oh—“ until Loki gripped his throat and lifted him off the floor with a leer.

 

“Did you ask for a God?” 

 

The man answered with a squeak when Loki crushed his throat. It was ever so nice to have the use of his hands returned to him.

 

“You are wasting my _time_ ,” he snarled, turning to face the final few who remained. “Tell me, where is Stark?” 

 

“Like we’d tell you that,” the tallest scoffed, gun aimed at Loki’s chest. Not confident enough to go for the head, then? Amusing.  

 

“You _should_ tell me,” Loki purred as he stepped closer. “Because if I have to force it out of you, your family—if a piece of excrement like you _has_ a family—and all of your _friends_ here will wonder: How ever did he fit so _much_ of you into such _tiny_ boxes?”

 

The man didn’t quiver in fear so much as stumble backwards with all the grace of a drunken monkey. Clearly, his threats were working, which was good, because he had little left to back them up with. Loki was well aware of how his green fire looked as it rose from his body. Curling from his hair, flickering across his arms, and casting a brilliant glow to his eyes. It was typically his rage made tangible, but, unfortunately, it harmless at this point. He had very little magic accessible to him right now, even as close to Anthony as he appeared to be. It wouldn’t be long before even the heat of the fire would seep away, leaving nothing but a mere illusion. He needed to find his mortal before he had nothing left to protect them both with. 

 

“Y-you’re too late,” the man stammered, backing away so quickly he stumbled over the shoes of the other soldier beside him. Her helmet was askew, showing a stony facade that only flickered once as Loki stepped closer. It was good, but not good enough.

 

“Too late for _what_?” he growled.

 

“Too late… too late to save him,” the man murmured, face going pale with each step that brought Loki closer. “He’s—uh… oh _Jesus_ …”

 

“That way,” the other interrupted, pointing down the hall behind her. “Past the double doors on the left. He stopped screaming almost an hour ago.”

 

Loki stepped up between them both, eyes falling to the female ant. She was trying so hard to look stern, so _resolute_ , but he could see the truth in her eyes. So much fear and hope. Such a foolish thing to do. Hope. 

 

“I suppose I should spare you for being so… helpful,” he said, giving her a teasing smile. 

 

The result was an instant sad of relief, and she stammered, “T-that would be—I would be so t-thankful.”

 

Tilting his head, Loki pretended to consider it, and drawled, “No, I don’t think I shall, after all,” before he broke her neck. 

 

Already far behind him, the pathetic thud of a man fainting reached his ears as he turned that final corner.

 

_Too late, they said._

_He would not be too late._

_He was in control._

 

* * *

 

 

“We must ride!” Thor insisted, once again the only one standing—now he was pacing—while the others crowded around scattered blue prints of several SHIELD bases. 

 

“Ride what?” Clint mused, grabbing a ruler and sketched a sharp, red line across one of the maps. Natasha leaned over and added a note to the line before looking back at her own. 

 

“Any means of transport. We must go forth and find them ourselves.”

 

Clint looked up with squinted eyes and asked, “What do you think we’re doing with these maps, playing Monopoly? ”

 

“Thor,” Steve interrupted, looking up from his own array of notes. “Everything we do now is going to be under surveillance. We just inadvertently alerted SHIELD that Stark and Loki are missing and they’re not happy about it. Especially the fact that Loki is even _here_ , never mind that he’s kidnapped our country’s top engineer.”  

 

At Thor’s threatening look, he quickly added, “Their words, not mine.”

 

Natasha muttered something in Russian that made Thor suddenly crack a knowing smile and visibly relax. For some reason, it really irked Steve that she could do that. The All-speak was amazing, sure, but he didn’t have to like the sneaky things Natasha shared with Thor in other languages. 

 

_Calm down, Rogers, it’s no big deal._

 

“I’ve got something,” Bruce called out from his corner. He had surprising amount of information up on his screens, and deep frown that didn’t suit his statement. 

 

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Clint responded, throwing the ruler down and hurrying over to hover over Banner. The rest of the team crowded in the space as best as they could, and tried to make sense of what they were looking at. 

 

“I had JARVIS check the security footage for the garage and got the model and make of the van they took them away in,” Bruce explained, showing them a clear image of a black van parked next to some of Tony’s less expensive cars. “As you can see, there’s no license plate, so I had to create an algorithm based on direction, weight, and speed.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Clint admitted. “But _cool_.”

 

Bruce let out a small huff of laughter and pointed to the garage footage again. “See here? Six people get into the van. That’s two in the front, Loki and Tony in the back, with one guard for each of them. JARVIS took care of the measurements and body weight. So, the total weight of the van is about 2.175 tons, give or take a little. Loki’s measurement was… odd.”

 

“Aye, Loki and I must watch our moments here on Midgard lest we break something. Though he may look slim, Loki actually weighs more than I.”

 

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Clint scoffed. “How much do _you_ weigh?” 

 

Thor shrugged, and before he could answer Natasha chimed in, “Clint, never ask someone’s weight. Anyway, Banner, what did you find with your algorithm?” 

 

“Well, JARVIS did all the heavy lifting. He tracked the van’s movements through the traffic cameras. Every time we lost sight of it, the algorithm was used to predict where the van would pop up next and helped weed out any other black vans of the same make and model.”

 

“Are there a lot of the same ‘Evil Guy’ kind of vans out there?” Clint asked. 

 

“Actually…” Bruce tapped the screen and about ten images of the same van showed up, each missing their license plates. “There were a lot of them out there. They thought ahead.”

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, his expression grim. This wasn’t good news. 

 

“These guys came prepared, which means even if we know where they’re being held captive, we got us a real fight on our hands.”

 

Natasha hummed in agreement and leaned in to drag the map forward on the screen. “He’s right, this is professional work. I mean SHIELD level intelligence, with the same formation, and equipment. Even the number of agents they dispatched was impressive for a small pick up like this. Five on this floor, twenty or more around the tower. That’s a lot of man power for an organization I’ve never even heard of before.”  


“And they’re pretending to _be_ SHIELD,” Steve added. 

 

“ _And_ they have a huge secret base,” Clint pointed out. 

 

On screen, a red dot glowed over a satellite image of a large compound. It was clearly a highly secure base of some sort, not SHIELD affiliated, and sitting right there on the outskirts of the city. 

 

“How have we never noticed this before?” Bruce questioned as he leaned back in his chair, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t the only one getting a headache here, Steve had been fighting it off for an hour now. 

 

“That can’t just _be_ there and not have some name or affiliation,” Natasha mumbled, pushing Banner’s chair out of the way and kneeling down to take over. After a fierce bout of typing, she pulled up a new screen. “Oh… That’s not…”

 

“Is that a CIA site?”

 

“Aww… CIA. Wait, that’s bullshit!” Clint exclaimed, pushing Bruce even further out of the way and kneeling down next to her.

 

“Excuse m—“

 

Clint continued, “There’s no way SHIELD doesn’t have connections there. There’s no CIA base that I know of in this area. Something’s off.”

 

Steve leaned in close, reading along as Natasha scrolled down for more information. She found some basic operations information, career opportunities, and a generic mission statement about protecting America from terrorism. It was all very friendly, with a kid’s section for school tours and FAQ for reports. Then, Natasha accessed the site’s code, which was fine—not that Steve understood what any of it meant—until she reloaded it through one of Tony’s programs. 

 

 

 

 

“It can’t be…” Steve breathed, unable to keep his voice from wavering. “They’re _gone_. We defeated them.”

 

“Organizations like this have a tendency to pop back up throughout history,” Natasha remarked, turning to study him with a frown. “Could be a copy-cat.”

 

“Who is a cat?” Thor asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What is this?” 

 

Steve knew he was pale, and probably looking as shaken and appalled as he felt. His past coming back to haunt him—no, his past was right here and _now_ , only growing stronger while he slept under the ice for all those years. And the worst part was that this was living proof that Bucky had died for nothing. That _he_ died for nothing. 

 

He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, and croaked, “It’s Hydra… Hydra has them.”

 

“Then we shall take them back from this Hydra,” Thor stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

 

“We can’t, it’s not that—“

 

“We can, and we shall, if we move now.”

 

Steve tore his eyes away from the screen and blinked stupidly at Thor for a long moment. He was just so… confident that this would work, no second guessing, no doubts what so ever. They were going to rescue Stark and Loki, and that was that. 

 

“You know what?” Steve said, squaring his shoulders and meeting Thor’s eye. “We _will_ get them back.”

 

“Then I think we better call someone,” Natasha advised, already dialing the number. 

 

“I think I’ve got something that will help with this multiple head issue of theirs,” Clint said, standing up and giving Steve a salute before jogging out of the room. 

 

Bruce grumbled something under his breath, carefully folded his glasses up, and put them on the table as he stood. 

 

“I guess it’s past time to let the other guy out for a run.”

 

Steve gave him a small smile as he left. This was his team, not losing hope for even a second. 

 

_And all because of Thor_ , he thought, glancing back at the other blonde. 

 

Thor simply smiled and saluted him with his hammer.

 

_We will rescue them._

 

That was a fact.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The moment he passed the threshold, Loki’s body violently rebelled against him. Because Loki had seen mutilated corpses before—often crafted by his own hand—but this was something inherently different. This was someone he actually _cared_ about, and ‘mutilated’ didn’t quite describe what had happened to Stark’s body. 

 

It had… _melted_. 

 

There were bits of him on the floor, a smell in the air that was indescribable. The skin under the bounds had sunken to the bone, and his face was—it was… It was unrecognizably horrifying. So, against Loki’s will, he expelled the contents of his stomach on the floor, wheezing and gasping for air while trying to regain some shred of self-control. He did not have time for this.

 

“A-anthony… if you are dead… fjandinn þér,” he choked, whipping his mouth on a wrist and stepping around the mess to approach the table. It took a great amount of concentration not to look down at what he was undoubtedly _standing in_ , and focus mainly on releasing Stark from the confines of the table. He was absolutely _not_ thinking about what his fingers were fumbling over, or how much each movement pained him, or how he wasn’t even sure if the man he was freeing was even still alive or not. He could think later, now he simply needed to get Anthony away, somewhere safe. 

 

“ _Ngghhhhhkkk_ ..”

 

Loki froze, and glanced at the blood-spattered lips that could not have possibly—

 

“… _hhhnn_?” 

 

“Anthony? Anthony, it’s me, please do not fret.”

 

“…”

 

Abandoning the last strap, Loki leaned in close to Stark’s face and forced himself to focus on his eyes, just his eyes. He cupped the man’s sagging cheeks, causing the man to wince, and wishing he could provide comfort, rather than harm.

 

“I cannot heal you,” he lamented, watching as one eye focused on him, and the other did not. Loki’s own vision had been skewed during his escape, one side blinded since Stark first fell into darkness, and the sight had not returned, even now.

 

The man didn't reply, but Loki saw recognition in his one good eye, and better yet, a little hope. 

“We need to leave,” Loki continued, talking mostly to himself since Stark could not provide much assistance or advice. “Being close should heal this in time, but right now, I do not have enough power to even light a fire, never mind transport us to freedom.”

 

Stark blinked slowly, another gurgle escaping him as he tried to lift his arms. Loki quickly stopped him with a hand, grimacing as his fingers sinked into the softened flesh. This would be stuff of nightmares for some time. 

 

“Please just… lie still for now. We shouldn't have any company for at least a few moments, and perhaps by then you will have…” 

 

_Healed_ , he thought desperately, watching hope burn even brighter in those dark eyes. Stark believed in him, _trusted_ him so fully that he was wiling to lay here and rot away without losing hope. How had he missed this? Surely he would have noticed the man beginning to trust him, it was something Loki never had before. 

 

He glanced away, murmuring, “You confusing creature…” 

 

“Taakes… o-one to… knooow one.”

 

Loki twisted himself around so fast, he nearly fell. “Did you—?”

 

“Mmmh… t-the creature speaks,” Stark rasped, lips quirking into a weak smile. 

 

“Well you shouldn’t yet,” Loki chided, touching a hand to Anthony’s brow. “You are healing, but you needn't waste energy with you usual babble.”

 

“Sooo mean…”

 

“You should know, by now, that I am _never_ nice.”

 

“L-liar.”

 

Loki flinched at the word, startling both of them. He hadn’t expected such a violent reaction to simple thing. Pathetic, really, to still cow to those ghosts that still taunted him from time to time.

 

“Yoouuaaareee nice,” Stark slurred, once again raising an arm and waving it towards Loki. A look of horror crossed his face when a glob of _something_ flecked Loki’s cheek. “Oh g-god… what is—?”

 

Loki shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. He was glad to feel them dry now, already healing from Loki’s presence alone. 

 

“As I said, it will heal,” he promised, looking Stark’s body over once again, since his healing began. It was still unpleasantly thin, with large bruises stretching across the small area of exposed skin near the man’s stomach, and an alarming amount of sours still clustered in different areas. Whatever this disease was, Loki was not fond of its existence. “In time. For now, I think we shall attempt a walk.”

 

“Walk… out of here?”

 

“Precisely.” 

 

Anthony closed his eyes, another odd smile forming on his lips. “One… does not s-simply walk out of Mordor.” 

 

“ _Mordor_ ,” Loki repeated. “You know where we are, then?”

 

“God no,” he replied, opening his eyes with a wet-sounding scoff. “It’s a q-quote… I have no… no idea where we are. Not SHIELD.”

 

“I know that much already. The man in charge of _entertaining_ me showed me some measly tattoo on his neck and began bragging about some organization named Hydra. It was all very unimpressive and droll, I did not listen much.”

 

Stark’s unfocused eyes widened so quickly it looked painful, and before Loki could ask why, the man was dragging himself up from the table with a loud groan of pain. 

 

“What is it? Anthony, stay—“

 

“No,” he hissed, clutching both hands to his chest and looking around the room desperately. “No, w-we need… to leave. _Now_.”

 

 

“They are nothing to be feared,” Loki assured him, stepping into his line of sight and holding his hands out to him. “I dealt with them quite easily.”

 

“You dealt.. with one head,” he said slowly, looking at something behind Loki. 

 

“Cut off one,” another voice continued, “and two more shall take its place.”

 

Loki watched as that flicker of hope in Stark’s eyes died, and before anything else could be said, things, inevitably, slid out of Loki’s control. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually snickered the whole time I was making the Hydra code thing. Because it's actually the code from the CIA website and there's a whole bunch of reasons I felt weird/amused about going to their site and looking at the coding. But also because it's such a high-schooler thing to do, hide junk in the code. 
> 
> Oh well, I amused myself. :V


	17. Corrodere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you lock a genius and a god in a room together? Nothing good for the people doing the locking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corrodere- To corrode.

 

 

It was horrifyingly easy to forget pleasant things, especially when faced with a harsher reality. It wasn’t until something reminded you that you might not ever see, hear, feel that certain something ever again that you remember said thing to begin with. 

 Usually, it was food. All the food Tony always wanted to try, and all the food he had grown to love over the years of his life. Things like those sugar cookies that one maid used to make before she was fired for corporate espionage, or that fancy macaroni and cheese made with white truffles that he promised Pepper he would treat her to. Tony really wanted to try it still, sans Pepper and maybe with the addition of a certain god he had come to accept as _something_. 

 

So, that’s what he was thinking about when they tossed them into another room and closed the door behind them. Not the pain, or the missing parts of his body he had a feeling were important, probably. No, he was thinking about feeding $150 macaroni and cheese to Loki. It was a nice daydream, even if that's all it was.

 

“Anthony?”

 

Tony answered with a groan, and didn’t bother to move from where they had tossed him to the floor. He didn’t have the energy, for one, and he had a bad feeling that if he did try to move, a limb might fall off. 

 

“Anthony, let me hold you,” Loki whispered from near by. “We will heal much more quickly if we stay in contact.”

 

“Don’t think you… wanna _contact_ this,” Tony muttered, and obviously Loki wasn’t listening, because arms were sliding under him, pulling him up into the god’s lap with no reservations. “Or maybe you… do. Okay…”

 

They stayed quiet for a while, Tony’s train of thought weaving in and out of reality verses fantasy. And Loki? Loki just sat there and held Tony against his chest like he wasn’t a sticky mass of melting organs and rotting tissues. He probably smelled horrible, too. Really, there was no reason for anyone to be anywhere near him. 

 

After a long time of zoning in and out, Loki’s voice broke the silence, “I thought you dead.”

 

That was a statenent Tony wasn’t sure how to answer, because if he was being perfectly honest, so did he. Like, for a good while there, he was convinced he was in hell and all these years of Atheism were somehow terribly, terribly wrong. But, he had a strong feeling that that wasn’t what Loki wanted to hear right now. Because this guy, somehow, cared about him. A lot more then he let on, for the most part, and a lot more than Tony was used to. He was never good at these relationship-like things, never mind saying the right thing at the right time to make the right person feel, well, alright. 

 

“Well… i’m not,” he said. 

 

_Good job_. 

 

“You may die, yet,” Loki argued. “We have hours before the healing is complete, or close enough to even consider using a healing spell. And then, there is matter of our escape.”

 

Tony smiled into the god’s chest and found himself snuggling in a little more than he was willing to before. Maybe he was healing, because touch was actually feeling almost good now, not like knives being dragged over raw muscle. 

 

“We’ll think of something, we’re smart, right? I know _I_ am, and you seem to have a big head up there that’s probably got a brain to match, so—“

 

“And you must be feeling _much_ better, for your relentless commentary to have begun once again.”

 

“I am feeling better, actually, thank you. My skin might actually be a semi-functioning organ again. I think there’s still parts missing—which i’m _not_ thinking about right now—and my throat feels loads better, obviously, since i’m talking without the bag-pipe-whistle-death-rattle anymore. That, and I can actually breathe again, which is amazing. Did you know I was drowning in my own blood? I can officially say that’s the most horrible way i’ve almost-died so far, and i’m including the drowning in dirty torture water—several times—and the back-stabbing assholery of someone you care about.”

 

There was a long, drawn out sigh from Loki, that, regardless of the irritation it was meant to express, sounded entirely too fond to be anything other than a sigh of relief. It was kind of sweet, actually, and it made a tiny place in Tony's chest grow warm. He kind of really wished it wasn’t so dark in their new room, he wanted—no, slash that—he _needed_ to see Loki’s face. 

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, in lieu of asking something stupid like, ‘ _let me touch your face to make sure you’re okay, because you don’t seem okay, and i’m worried_.’

 

Loki sighed, “My hands began healing as soon as I drew close to you,” and began trailing his fingers up Tony’s spine to prove his point. “I believe my magic is growing stronger as the days pass.”

 

“Soooo… what does that mean? You’re going to complete the ritual? Ditch me in that ratty old apartment? Suck me dry and leave my crispy corpse for the Avengers to find?”

 He didn't see it coming, so he let out a surprised bark of laughter when that last one earned him a swat across the head. 

 

“Guess that’s a _yes_ , then,” he continued, and tried to duck away as the swatting continued. 

 

“I cannot understand you at times,” Loki huffed, pulling Tony back against his chest and forcing him to stay still. “We are locked in a cell, surrounded by some sort of pathetic, mortal cult, with these dramatic beliefs about society and rank—“ he paused, his voice growing nasty,  
“All of which are utter swill. They bastardized every system of rule that could work, it’s rather… rather… were was I?”

 

“Donno, bitching about something.”

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Loki snapped, and continued with less venom, “Ah, yes, important things, such as our escape.”

 

 “I have yet to regain enough magic to teleport us out of here, your precious tower is not as impregnable as you _imagined_ , my own hideaway has been compromised by my dimwitted brother. Leaving us with no where safe to go, no one to assist us, and here _you_ are making remarks about my head size and asking me if i’m going to _kill_ you.”

 

“Well… are you?” 

 

“ _No_!”

 

Tony let out a sigh. “That’s settled, then. So, now we make an escape plan and go back to my _impregnable_ tower because JARVIS  should be back up by now and that’s that.”

 

“And if he is not?” 

 

“I’ll turn him back on.”

 

“And if you cannot?”

 

“All my suits are there,” Tony whined, pushing away from Loki’s chest to glare at him. The movement coupled with eyesight in only one eye sent him reeling back way more dramatically than he initially planned. He had assumed that his eyesight would be back along with the rest of his body, but apparently they were having some technical difficulties. Please try again later. 

 

“Anthony, please be still,” Loki requested. “I need you in your best form, if we intend to escape here on foot.”

 

_Tell him_ , the little voice in the back of his mind urged. Tony decided to listen to it, for once.

 

“I… uh… have you opened your left eye any time recently?”

 

“There has not been much purpose to do so, since I know what I shall see. It will only serve to disorient me.” Loki frowned and asked, “Why? What is it?”

 

“Well, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I haven’t been able to see anything out of mine since I, ummmmelted. I kind of assumed it would be better by now, since, you know, i’m no longer doing an impression of swiss cheese. It might throw a little, tiny wrench into our plans if I can’t judge the distance between my fist and some Hydra asshole’s face. Depth perception's a bitch with one eye."

 

Tony really listened for a response, because this was important and there wasn’t much to distract him around here, anyway. When all he got was both of their shallow breathing and some kind of distant beeping noise in response, Tony reached up to feel Loki’s face, just like he used to before the spell let him _see_ that face. It was familiar, all the dips, and bends, and soft skin. Tony traced a well-known path down his cheek bone. Down, down, down the jaw line, and back up to the lips when he reached the chin. They parted at his touch, and Tony realized that his heart wasn’t slamming against his rib cage in a panic anymore. It was doing something more pleasant, like a tango, or a salsa. Some kind of fast-paced sexy dance.

 

It just figured that they were locked in a pretty rank-smelling cell, surrounded by a bunch of a very long-lived post Nazi cultist with no magic, no suits, two good eyes between them, and neither of them was doing so hot in the health department. But for all that, the simple matter of feeling that familiar face under his fingers relaxed him a million times better than any of Bruce’s recommended breathing excises, or calming tea. 

 

_He needs you_ , the voice whispered.

 

_No he doesn’t, he’s an almighty god with—_

 

_He_ needs _you._

 

 

 

 

_…Alright._

 

Tony sat up, and taking a good, firm hold of Loki’s face in both hands, kissed him like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Because maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter. 

 

Tony broke the kiss slowly, and leaned back to look the confused god in the eye. Cunfused looked good on him. Maybe when they got more comfortable around each other, Tony would try calling him 'cute'.

 

He smirked. Not today. Right now, it was time for war.

 

"Roll up your sleeves," he ordered. "Kick that huge brain of your’s into gear. We’re getting out of here, and we’re taking out as many of them as we fucking can before we go.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Thor is amazing_ , Steve thought absentmindedly, slipping on his helmet and buckling the straps under his chin. He gave it an experimental wiggle, and let his hands drop to his sides. It was all he could do to not fidget with his suit, shield, gloves, everything. This business with Stark and—unfortunately—Loki was confusing and stressful enough without these random thoughts bubbling up in the back of his mind. Like how nice Thor’s smile was when he patted his back earlier. Or how all it took was a little encouragement from the god to get him back in gear. 

 

It was worrying, and distracting. Steve didn’t need any distractions right now, not when Hydra was alive and well, and kidnapping members of his team. 

 

“Right,” he said to his reflection. “Search and rescue. Then deal with Loki…”

 

 

But Thor wasn't going to like that very much, even if he was under orders to bring Loki back to Asgard. Which meant _Thor_ was also going back to Asgard, possibly forever. 

 

_Which means you’ll never see that smile again._

 

Steve squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. Now was not the time. He wasn’t sure if there was ever going to be a good time to think about this, but _now_ was really not it. 

 

“Pull up your tights, Rogers!” Clint called from the hall. “It’s time to go!” 

 

He opened his eyes and stared at himself a moment longer. 

 

“Right. Hydra. Tony. Loki.”

 

_Thor_. 

 

“Move your ass, Steve!”

 

“I’m coming!” he shouted back, and with one last tug on the straps, Steve turned and left before he looked himself in the eye and saw the truth there. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a near-perfect silence surrounding cell 3A when the first rotation of the guards began. Silence could meant any number of things: The captives could have died, or even fell asleep. Maybe they were bound and gagged, unable to move enough, or speak to protest their living arrangement. Or—the worse and most likely option, considering just _who_ was in there—the captives were up to something. 

 

Nicolas L. Johnson, a low-ranking officer of the base, and an even lower ranking member of Hydra, wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew what kind of silence that was, and it was no coincidence the quiet hum of voices had petered out only moments before the guards were set to change. 

 

“Hold up, something’s going on in there,” he said, nodding to the cell door. His companion and higher ranking officer, Frank D. Richmond, (Everyone claimed the ‘D’ stood for ‘dickwad’) scoffed loudly and continued to walk down the hall towards the approaching guards. 

 

“Sir, there’s something—“

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure they’re plotting your demise through a six-inch steel door.”

 

Nicolas bristled, once again unimpressed by the man he was forced to work under. The guy in there was Tony Stark, who _everyone_ knew was a real life MacGyver, and, seriously? Who hasn’t heard of his infamous escape from the Ten Rings? Not to mention the other one in there, the same guy who took out half of New York city with an army of flying aliens. 

 

Yeah, he had no doubt in his mind that those bastards were planning someone’s demise behind that door. 

 

And that’s exactly when an unholy shriek filled the air. 

 

“What the _hell_ is—?”

 

“Where’s that coming from?”

 

“Somebody call the director!” Nicolas called out, swinging his gun around and pointing it at the door to cell 3A. Everyone was scrambling. Someone ran off to make the call, someone else was readying their weapon, and Frank was crouching down to look through the slot in the door. 

 

“Don’t!” 

 

But he was too late. 

 

Six-inch thick steel door. 

 

Two inch gap for a food tray. 

 

Two inches was all they needed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 “Well, that worked.”

 

“As I said it would,” Loki drawled, turning the eyeball in his fingers with a thoughtful smirk. “Are you ready for your part?” 

 

Tony grinned. “Abso-fucking-luetly.” 

 

“Timing is everything, Anthony.”

 

“Yeah, so stop wasting it and open the door already.”

 

Loki tossed the eye into the air and caught it again with the greatest of ease. Which, as iron-stomached as Tony usually is, was pretty disgusting to watch and completely unnecessary. His not-a-boyfriend was _so_ dramatic.

 

“Ready yourself,” was the god’s final warning before he held the eyeball in front of the scanner, and opened the door. Like he needed the warning. Tony was ready for his performance.

 

“The door’s open!” Someone screamed as Loki stepped back to let Tony move in front of him. 

 

Unsurprisingly, there were guns aimed at them, with pale faces behind, contorted in fear. They were actually _really_ scared of them. _Huh_. 

 

“Hey there,” Tony cheered, walking right into their line of fire and giving a wave. “Yeah, I know, i’m looking so much better now. Cranberry juice, I swear by it. The thing is… you forgot something really, really important when you kidnapped me. That i’m smarter than you—that _he’s_ smarter than you.” He jabbed a thumb in Loki’s direction. “So what do you think your biggest mistake was?”

 

One of the soldiers shifted a step closer, and commanded, “Get back in your cell, now!”

 

“No one?” Tony pouted, then nodded to the one standing over a bloody-faced body. “How about you? What was the mistake?”

 

The man mumbled an awkward, “Um…” before the angry-yelly one interrupted, again.

 

“Get. In. The. Cell!” 

 

Tony threw up his arms, pretending it didn’t hurt like a bitch, and yelled, “Okay! You got me!” 

 

It was pathetic, really, how much tension lifted from their shoulders. Like he was already subdued. Like they’d _actually_ convinced him to get back in the stupid cell. 

 

_They just don’t breed villains like they used to._ _No wonder Loki was so pissed off, these guys are probably—absolutely an insult to him._

 

“You too!” The tallest shouted, gesturing to Loki with the muzzle of his gun. Loki looked bored, and didn’t move an inch. In fact, he was standing almost perfectly behind Tony, at this point. Just standing, like he had nothing better to do. Which was technically accurate, since it was Tony’s turn to be in the limelight.

 

“Just _one_ thing, though… can’t someone tell me what your mistake was?”

 

“We made no mistake,” the solider snapped, returning his aim to Tony’s chest. “Back, now.” 

 

Tony wiggled his raised arms and whined, “Looookiiiiii, they’re not being any fun. You promised me a good time tonight and I get this. A clown act would be better, and that’s saying something.”

 

“You are simply impossible to please,” Loki sighed behind him. 

 

“Now you know that’s not true, I’m so easily pleased when you—“

 

“Stop talking and get in the cell, or I will shoot!”

 

“Oh alright, _I’ll_ tell you what your mistake was,” Tony sighed, taking a step closer to the man with the gun pointed at his heart.

 

“One more step, and i’ll kill you right here.”

 

“Your mistake,” he said, slowly lowering his arms out in front of him, one hand curled into a fist. “Was putting these two smart people in a room together.”

 

There was a loud crash from above, and startled yelling.

 

“Oh, and for not checking my shoes.” 

 

He grinned, and opened his left hand to show a small, black box with a tiny, blinking red light on it.

 

Something, traveling dangerously fast, collided with the line of soldiers on Tony’s left, sending them sprawling face first into the floor. That something also forced Mr. Tall-Soldier to jump out of the way, giving it clear shot at Tony. 

 

Who greeted it with open arms. 

 

“Come to papa,” he purred, as the suit embraced his body like an old lover. 

 

In seconds, the pieces were on, JARVIS chimed a pleasant ‘hello’ in his ear, and behind him, Tony felt Loki’s body do something fantastic with heat. 

 

That gun, that had previously been pointed at Tony’s unprotected chest, melted in the soldier’s hands. And some of them were smart enough to start running.

 

Oh yeah, they were _definitely_ scared of them. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Because they didn’t take the jet right up to the landing pad on the roof of the main building, they ended up entering the base on the ground level. Natasha had said something about ‘why waste our time fighting our way down, when they’re probably being held in a basement level?’ Which made sense, and in the end, it’s because she made this argument so well that they weren’t on the roof when the top floors of the building exploded. 

 

“Aww fuck!” Clint yelped, ducking down with the others as the explosion rocked the entire base. Steve squinted past his shield at the debris raining down from above. It looked an awful lot like…

 

“Watch out!” He yelled, pushing Natasha behind him “They’re bodies!” 

 

Thor got ahold of both of them and yanked them back towards the gate. Clint got out of the way just in time for the first one to land in front of them with a sickening crunch. 

 

“Aww fucking fuck!”

 

Closing his eyes wasn’t enough to stop the sounds of bodies hitting the ground reaching him, and making his stomach turn. Even the steady heartbeat and warm body against his back wasn’t enough to block it out. Another explosion forced him bite his cheek, and open his eyes again. He was a soldier, he had seen worse.

 

Beside him, Natasha was staring at the bodies with no sign of discomfort. In fact, there was a smile playing across her lips. Her scary smile, Steve decided. 

 

“Дождь из людей.”

 

“Hallelujah,” answered Clint.

 

“Right,” Steve began as he pushed himself out of Thor’s arms. “Any ideas as to what this is?”

 

“Internal dispute?” Clint offered from where he knelt. 

 

“That’s one big argument.”

 

Natasha shook her head. “I’m guessing Loki, by the state of these bodies.”

 

“And what about Tony?”

 

“Stark will be with my brother,” Thor stated, sounding sure. 

 

“But why is he—“

 

Yet another explosion interrupted him, this time from the ground floor. Glass exploded towards them, soon followed by screaming, burning men. Some made attempts to put out the oddly colored flames by dropping to the ground, and rolling around helplessly. But the fire didn’t seem to _want_ to go out, and within moments, it consumed them in a wall of green. 

 

“That is my brother’s work!” Thor yelled over the screams of men and alarms, and took off towards the non-existent front door. Steve yelled for him to, ‘Come back! Let’s regroup!” but Thor was already almost inside. 

 

“Loki!”

 

“Thor! Don’t!” 

 

“He’s going to get himself stabbed,” Natasha sighed, joining Steve as they approached the building. “Again.”

 

“You’re not helping,” he snapped in reply, starting to jog as more screams echoed out from the inner hallways. 

 

“Loki!” came Thor’s voice again, sounding further and further away with each shout. Putting on a burst of speed, they finally managed to catch up enough to see his red cape disappear around a corner. 

 

“Where is he going?” 

 

“I think his Loki Sense is tingling.” 

 

Steve huffed out a weak laugh, “Well I wish it wasn’t. We need to find Tony.” 

 

“We find Loki,” she replied, turning the corner sharply without losing speed. “We find Stark.”

 

“That’s what i’m worried—“

 

“ _Brother_!” 

 

There was something different about Thor’s voice, something pained and Steve was so sure he’d been stabbed just like Natasha said. So, he barreled forward, bursting through a set of red double doors and promptly ran face first into Thor’s back. 

 

“Thor, what…?” 

 

The god was standing very still, his eyes fixed on something half hidden by the shadows. Something covered in little flickers of green flame and what looked like an entire body’s worth of blood. 

 

The something laughed. 

 

“Loki…” The name left Thor’s lips in a sigh, heavy with disappointment and perhaps a hint of fear. 

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Loki snarled, dropping what looked like a human head on the floor and turning to face them fully. “They are ‘bad men’, or so Stark told me. I am simply doing this realm a favor.” 

 

Thor’s body sagged, and Steve watched as the god seemed to age twenty years before his eyes. Behind him, Steve heard Natasha mumble something into her com, and slowly step back outside the doors. Apparently she was leaving this to them to handle.

 

“Brother, this is nothing but selfish carnage. You did this for your own entertainment.” 

 

“Oh, partially, i’m sure. There’s no point in denying myself pleasure, even if it was, initially, a means of escape.”

 

“You could have left at any time,” Thor argued, taking a step forward. “Yet you let them burn. You struck them down, not to kill, but to make them suffer.” 

 

Loki titled his head, a sharp little grin forming on his face. Whatever god Steve had seen kissing Tony all those hours ago, was not the god standing before them right now. This was the insane Loki they had fought to save their world from. The god Bruce had once claimed to be able to , ‘smell crazy on him,’ and was scarily accurate with his description. 

 

“I find this amusing,” Loki began, with a chuckle. “Hmm, yes. You arrive, just when it is over, and precede to berate me for doing the same thing you have done millions of times, in millions of battles. Where is your concern for my health, dear brother? Where are your _manners_?”

 

 

“I can plainly see that you are well,” Thor began, only to be interrupted by another alarming cackle. 

 

_What on earth did Tony see in this guy?_

 

_Unless he_ is _being brainwashed…_

 

“Did you hear that?” Loki called over his shoulder, his grin losing some of that sharpness to it. “He can _plainly_ see that I am well.” 

 

“Plainly,” came a reply. “Nice of him to ask how i’m doing, too.”

 

Fire glinted off the gold metal of Stark’s mask as it flipped up to reveal his usual confident smirk. He, however, didn’t look well at _all_. His skin was a sickening shade of gray, with dark shadows hanging low beneath his eyes. Even his eyes seemed dull, and for the first time, Steve noticed that something was different about them. The one on the right was the same golden-brown color as it used to be, before the incident blinded him, while the other was now a pale shade of green. It was also bloodshot, and unfocused, and not quite following Stark’s head as he turned his smile to Loki

 

“I think we did what we set out to do,” he said, stepping up to Loki’s side and stumbling suddenly. 

 

Steve breathed, for what felt like the first time in ten minutes. “Tony… What have you done?”

 

It made the man chuckled weakly, while he allowed the god to circle and arm around the suit to pull him close. 

 

“Hi Steve," he waved. "I blew up Hydra for you. You’re welcome. Now, can we go home before someone like, oh, I don’t know, the real SHEILD shows up?” 

 

“Tony…”

 

“Oh, I don’t like that tone,” he said, his smile slipping away. “Don’t say it. Just _don’t_ —come on, I just want to go home and lay down.” 

 

“Tony, you need to let SHEILD take you in for testing,” Steve continued quietly. 

 

“No.”

 

“Tony, you know it’s for your own—“

 

“Oh, shove it up your _ass_ , Rogers!” Tony hissed. “Why are you even here? For my ‘own good’, right? Did you show up to _save_ me, just so you can lock me up in another fucking cell?” 

 

Steve brushed past Thor, anger boiling in his chest. “You’re being brainwashed, Stark! It’s obvious to everyone but yourself!” 

 

He expected more anger, like there usually was when they argued. Maybe even a thrown fist or two. But instead, Stark’s face closed off completely, making it impossible to read his emotions. 

 

“Loki, it’s time for us to leave.”

 

“Yes, I believe so,” the god replied, casting one last cool look at his brother. 

 

“Stark! Don’t you dare…”

 

Tony stared at him calmly and shook his head. “I’ll talk to you when you pull that Stupid Stick out of your ass. Lokes, let’s ride.”

 

“Brother! Do not do this,” Thor begged, launching himself towards them as the first shimmers of gold began to form around their bodies. “I am not the only one father sent to retrieve you!”  

 

His hand reached out to clutch Loki’s arm, and closed on empty air. 

 

“Loki…”

 

The building groaned around them as a shudder traveled through its frame, and something was collapsing on the floors above them, but Thor would not move from the spot Loki disappeared from. 

 

“Thor, come on… we need to go.”

 

Steve frowned when he got no response, and gently touched the blonde's arm. “Thor, please… we’ll figure this out later, but right now, we’re about to get a thousand pounds of concrete and hot metal raining down on us.” 

 

“They will kill him,” Thor rasped, staring down at his empty hand. 

 

“What? SHIELD wouldn’t kill him, they know he’s—“

 

“Not SHIELD.” 

 

“Then who?” Steve asked. 

 

With a pained smile, Thor replied, “My friends.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's [probably inaccurate] Russian: 
> 
> 'It's raining men.'
> 
> **freshlt edited a bit


	18. Promises You Shouldn’t Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooorrryyyy...

 

 

 

 

It was raining, again, and if Tony thought about it hard enough, he’d realize that it probably _meant_ something. You know, considering it had been clear skies when they left the HYDRA base. But he didn’t feel like thinking hard about anything, and it ended up being nothing more to him than static in the background while he stretched out on the floor of his workshop. 

 

Loki was… Loki was lurking somewhere in the tower. Probably stealing people’s stuff or setting something on fire, and Tony should probably keep an eye on him after that not-so-sweet Brother Reunion Part 2, Electric Boogaloo, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. 

 

And not that the floor of his workshop was particularly comfortable—it’s concrete, so, no—but Tony really couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. Loki promised to be back soon, anyway, since they still needed another healing-cuddle session. Their explosive escape left him feeling weak and, if he was feeling brave enough to admit, a little emotionally fragile. The last thing he fucking needed was some judgmental bullshit about his choice of escape, and seriously, how was setting everything on fire and flying away _surprising_ at this point? That was his thing, apparently. 

 

So why did they do that? Why do they _always_ do that? So he’s been grumpy and not child-friendly as of late. Tony was pretty sure that came with the whole ‘i’m blind and useless’ gig. Or, at least, it came with his version of the ‘blind and useless’ gig, which, again, should not be surprising. The thing with Loki notwithstanding, he really can’t figure out what other version of himself they seem to have met, because he’s never been a nice person. Maybe it was a clone, or an evil twin. Or maybe they had unrealistic standards for him because he was willing to throw himself into unknown space with a bomb to save the world. Self sacrificing was not harmonious with niceness. 

 

“You have yet to move?” 

 

Tony craned his neck to see booted feet and grunted in response. Who needed words? 

 

“Ah, as inelegant as ever,” Loki sighed, and suddenly he was right there, lifting Tony up from the floor. Which hurt, thank you very much, but he didn’t really have the energy to try to stop him. Like he could stop Loki from doing anything he set his mind to, anyway. 

  
“Did I have to move?” Tony asked, watching his legs trail behind them uselessly. “I was almost comfortable there. Another ten minutes and my body would have been numb enough to sleep.” 

 

“You said you would be turning your system back on, or that we would move on to another location as soon as possible.” 

 

“That was before I fell out of my suit and died on the floor a little.” 

 

“And yet the danger that pursues us is still in _pursuit_.” 

 

“You’re really poetic sometimes, when you’re not yelling.” Tony paused, and corrected himself, “Actually, you can be pretty poetic when you’re mad, too.” 

 

Loki huffed, “I am well read,” and dropped Tony on to the cot tucked into the corner of his workshop. Tony did not whimper in pain, no sir, he did not. 

 

“Implying that i’m not well read,” Tony argued, allowing himself to be shoved over for what—oh, Loki was coming in too, okay. That was nice, actually. 

 

“We shall stay for a few more moments, then we move on,” Loki said, his voice dropping low for some unknown reason. It wasn’t as though anyone was there yet, he did have some security systems on, even if they weren’t JARVIS. 

 

Oh man, he missed JARVIS. Ten minutes with the AI in his ear wasn’t enough, he’d need to make sure he brought the hard drive with him when they left. Speaking of…

 

“So what the hell were you off doing this entire time?” Tony grumbled, not allowing himself to feel embarrassed for the way he was curling into Loki’s chest. It was healing-cuddles, he could run another self-analysis at a later time. 

 

“I was gathering things we may need.”

 

“So, pilfering my tower, basically.” 

 

“No one was using any of it.”

 

“That’s because no one is here right now, to use it.”

 

“Precisely.” 

 

“ _Oh my god_ … fine, whatever, just… don’t give them more reasons to come hunt us down.”

 

Loki shifted against him, and there was that soft, warm kiss against his forehead again. Which, wow, it’s been a while and Tony still did an internal freakout every time. It was just so gentle, so casual. Not one of those life sucking or magic healing or leading-to-some-hot-sex kind of kisses. Actually, the last time someone other than Loki kissed him like that, it was his mother, and she died a few hours later. 

 

_Love._

 

_It’s a love kind of kiss._

 

Tony’s internal squirming became external. 

 

“You think too loudly,” Loki murmured from somewhere in Tony’s hair. And didn’t he seem all nice and content, like they weren’t swimming into dangerous waters again. Like it was totally normal for a not-a-boyfriend sort of villain, alien, god, prince, biker-gang leather wearing, asshole-like, slightly violent, almost-killed-me snarky guy to drop little kisses like that without some ulterior motive. And that was something Tony had already calculated, and dismissed. A half-dead, one-eyed mortal was not exactly useful right now, and Loki could still end the spell with just his blood. Instead, he’s kissing, not killing.

In his — _let’s pretend it’s a delirious state, not suicidal, shut up_ —Tony was tempted to ask if he kissed his mother with that mouth, but he _did_ want to continue living. At least a little while longer. That, and well, despite all the ‘celestial body’ things and the fact that Loki was technically using him like a magic battery, he hadn’t actively tried to hurt Tony since their nice big fight with all the glass. He also kissed him in front of all his pals not too long ago. That was a good sign, right? 

 

“Stark, _shut up_.”

 

“I’m not even talking!” Tony whined, and for some reason, bit Loki’s chest as hard as he could. 

 

Which was kind of…

 

really

 

stupid. 

 

A little. 

 

Because Loki just went and let out this _moan_ , and holy shit, Tony didn’t even _think_ about where he was biting or _who_ he was biting or whythefuckwiththebiting?!

 

And now that he had done the biting, the entire atmosphere of the _entire tower_ had changed, and Tony felt hot, and a little shaky, and up for a lot more biting and maybe some of those leading-to-hot-sex kinds of kisses. Even with that small part of Tony’s brain that tried to remind him that he had just been melting a few hours ago—but the larger part of him just _wanted_. 

 

“Stark… _Stark_.” 

 

“No,” Tony whispered, not exactly sure he was saying ‘no’ to. There was a neck right there, he just needed to scoot up a little more and Loki tasted like… _fuck_. He tasted like salt, and burnt sugar, and blood—which was not as sexy considering it probably came from one of the agents they killed—and Jesus, his tongue was tingling from mouthing his way up to Loki’s jaw. Should his tongue be tingling?

 

Who the fuck _cares_? 

 

“No,” he repeated, finding another spot to bite just under Loki’s ear, and firmly latching on. Loki didn’t make a sound this time, but Tony’s magic I-Was-Blind-Must-Use-Ears senses picked up the hitch in his breath, and the rest of his body just did it’s usual thing and felt him shiver. 

 

“Stark—the time—we don’t have—“ 

 

Tony lifted his head up just enough to growl, “Don’t care,” and he was back again, determined to get another moan out of Loki. The breathless sounds were nice, oh-so nice, oh _very_ nice, _yes_ , but he wanted more. He wanted words, and maybe some babbling, and more skin would be good, too. 

 

Unfortunately, Loki was still a god, and therefor super strong, and kind of a jerk. Which meant, when Loki pushed him away, he skidded right off the cot and halfway across the floor on his back. He let out another whimper of pain, and didn’t get up again. That was just _mean_. 

 

“That’s new skin you’re abusing,” he gritted out, unhappily back to his turtle impression. Now with blue balls. 

 

“This is not the time,” Loki snapped. Oops, there he was, looking pissed and very, very tall from down here. “If we are to deal with your friends again, I wish it to be while we are at an advantage, and not still healing from our most recent ordeal. Your eye, alone, is reason to leave this place and find safety.” 

 

Well aware that he was wasting time, glaring up at Loki like he was, Tony crossed his arms over his chest and continued to fucking waste their time like an adult. So there. 

 

“I can get thoroughly fucked with only one eye working,” he huffed. “Hell, I could do it with one hand tied behind my back, or—ooh, two hands tied behind my back! That’s good too. Or a blindfold, I mean, really, there’s so many options that don’t involve me doing much seeing or touching. Well, some touching, but—“ 

 

“Now. Is. Not. The. Time!” 

 

Tony winced, and gave in. Because he could feel those periods like they were bullets, and an angry Loki was much less likely to get into The Mood again any time soon. 

 

_Be careful_ , the voice warned out of nowhere, which was startling because: 

 

1\. The voice was _always_ throwing him towards Loki, not warding him away. 

2\. Where the fuck have you _been_ for the past day and a half?

 

But okay, he could do that. He could stand up, and dust himself off, and not touch Loki. Loki didn’t look touchable anymore, anyway. He was stiff, and angry, and something else. A regular mystery, that guy.  

 

“I’m not apologizing for that, so if that’s what you’re waiting for, save yourself the grudge and move on,” he said, brushing past Loki to fetch two more suit-case suits. He’d need them as backups if things went really sour from now until whenever he could get back here. 

 

“I wasn’t aware you possessed the ability to apologize, anyway.”

 

“I’ve apologized to you… uh…” he paused, trying to think of a time he ever apologized that wasn’t completely sarcastic. “Okay, I never have to _you_ , but i’ve never had to, anyway. I haven’t done diddly-squat to you that you didn’t bring on yourself.” 

 

Loki hissed something under his breath, and there was a vibration in the air that had the hairs on Tony’s arms rising up. 

 

_Be careful_ , the voice reminded him, again. 

 

_Be careful of what?_

 

“Anyway, let’s blow this pop-stand and find somewhere to hole up for a while,” Tony continued, pretending he didn’t feel worried about something he shouldn’t be worried about. Loki wouldn’t leave him, not now. He couldn’t break the bond between them, he promised. Or did he? He said he wouldn’t, but, you know, God of Lies and all that. 

 

 

“Plans have changed.” 

 

There was another ripple behind him, and he couldn’t do it, he wasn’t brave enough to not look, he had to turn around and—

 

_Pop!_

 

Tony jumped forward too late, and his fingers closed on air. 

 

“ _No_ … no no no no no, you _promised_!” he screamed, instantly opening his other eye to see where Loki went. Which was useless, because it was nothing but black, the same black Tony had been staring at since the accident. 

 

_Be careful._

 

“Fuck you!” he snarled, ready to rip something apart, to smash everything in this room, maybe throw a proper hissy fit. That would totally help. “You’re a fucking liar, both of you. You, you stupid little voice, _and_ Loki.” 

 

“And you find that a surprise, mortal?” 

 

Tony might have made a noise, if someone’s hand wasn’t closing around his throat and yanking him off the floor. He managed a startled squeak, though, and flailed his legs at the massive, bearded guy glaring at him. 

 

_And where the fuck did he come from?!_

 

“Now tell me, small man, where did this lying god go?” he asked in an overly pleasant tone. Like that could make up for the lifting-off-the-ground-by-the-neck bullshit. 

 

Tony choked out something nasty in Spanish, because he could, and promptly passed the fuck out.

 

He’d had a long, horrible day. Sue him. 

 

 

* * *

  


 

Volstagg was not impressed by the limp mortal in his hands. He was small, even by Midgard’s standards, and smelled like something rotten. Which was why he dropped the mortal to the floor, and pulled out a rag to clean his hands. 

 

“This is one of the warriors Thor spoke of? One of his new shield brothers?” he grumbled, tempted to prod the mortal with his boot. Then again, even such a small thing would probably break the tiny man. 

 

“I must admit, I had imagined something more fantastic,” Fandral sighed, doing the honor of nudging the man with his own boot. “Perhaps he is simply a stable boy?” 

 

“Do you see many horses here, Fandral?” 

 

“He certainly smells like the stables.” 

 

Sif scowled, and covered her mouth with her hand. “He smells like death.”

 

“Precisely.” 

 

Volstagg ignored Fandral, much as he always did, and began poking around at the items sprawled across the table in front of him. Strange things, some primitive, others completely unfamiliar. Beside him, Hogun silently picked through what he had already touched with a rare hint of curiosity in his expression.

 

“What does Loki wish with this mortal, anyway?” Fandeal continued, much more interested in the lump on the floor than Midgard’s technology. 

 

“Thor did not say anything about a connection with a mortal,” Sif said, sounding bitter. Everything she spoke of in regards to Thor was bitter these days. “But I sense Loki’s presencehere, as well. He and this man have spent quite some time together, to leave such a dark shadow over him.” 

 

Volstagg gave up on perusing the table and joined the other two staring down at the mortal with different degrees of disgust across their faces. He really did smell foul. 

 

“We should seek out Thor before we delve further into this, he clearly knows more now that he has spent time here again.” 

 

“I dislike this,” Hogun murmured. 

 

“It is something to do with Loki,” Fandral sneered. “Of course you do.”

 

Sif kicked at the mortal man’s legs twice, and said, “What do we do with him? I refuse to carry him, smelling like that.” 

 

“Leave him,” Volstagg suggested with a shrug. “If Loki has invested time into this mortal, clearly he is important. Leave him, and let us wait for his return.” 

 

“And Thor?” 

 

Fandral laughed, “Where Loki goes, Thor is there soon after.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was an absolute imbecile. 

 

It was not often that Loki would say that about himself, so when he did, it was the utter truth. He was foolish, so foolish. Stark was just so… Stark had been…

  
_Wonderful_ , something whispered in the back of his mind. 

 

_Kind, arousing, good._

 

“Silence,” Loki hissed in reply, and curled in on himself even further. He had escaped to another emergency location, which was just as grimy and unpleasant as the last one. This time, however, he had none of his tools, and no St—Anthony. It was Anthony, he might as well continue calling him by name, even if he had fallen back to old habits. 

 

Calling him Stark created distance between them, which was something he had scrambled to gain when the mortal began touching him. Not the usual flirtatious touching, or the sleepy touching, or playful touching. It was more, it was heavy and meaningful, and leading to such good things. So good, that Loki could not stop himself from wondering when everything would come crumbling down again. 

 

Which was the thought that forced him to push Anthony away, no matter how much he craved those ‘good things’. He could not ruin him anymore than he already has. Everything he touched turned to ash, even if his touch was the only thing that kept Anthony alive. 

 

_Be careful_ , the bond whispered, because something _was_ crumbling down, wasn’t it? Anthony would fall apart again much more quickly, with him leaving so soon after they healed. 

 

Abandoned… he abandoned Anthony because he was _afraid_. 

 

“How much further can you fall, Loki? he asked himself, curling his fingers inward until his sharp nails broke the flesh. “Just how pathetic are you really?” 

 

He could almost hear Anthony’s reply, “ _Puh-leeze. Pull your head out of your ass for two seconds, and let’s fix this before it gets worse._ ”  
 

Loki let out a huff of laughter. 

 

So ridiculous, that man. He strongly believed that he could fix everything and anything that he encountered. Which, assumably, was a great many things at this point, with Loki included. 

 

But no, that was not entirely correct. Anthony had not set out to ‘fix’ Loki, not as Thor had. He made no attempts at correcting his behavior, other than to tell him outright when Loki said or did something he deemed harmful or rude to himself. (Not that Loki listened to those very often, anyway.) Stark never once claimed a higher moral ground, or a higher anything, really. Certainly not his physical hight. 

 

And that had him chuckling again. What was wrong with him?

 

 

_Be_

 

_careful_ _._

 

 

“Ah… I am doing something wrong again, am I not?” he asked the voice, or the air, or his imaginary Anthony. 

 

No one replied, but Loki had his answer. 

 

He was an imbecile, but at least he knew better than to let go of the one thing he has found to be precious to him in many, many years. 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony woke up feeling like shit, so, really, just another Tuesday. One more day of the aching, rotting feeling. One more day of pain and disappointment, and lonely—oh god, Loki left. 

 

Loki left him. 

 

Loki _left_ him, _again_. 

 

 

“He’s awake,” Someone snapped, and— _ow_ , fuck, ow, there’s a thing stabbing him in the side. 

 

“Gwaauugh?” he grunted, which was great, by his standards. Then again, his standards were really low these past few days. 

 

“Does he seem worse than before?” Someone else asked. 

 

“They all look the same to me.”

 

“Much worse,” Another said. 

 

“His eyes are all yellow around them… has Loki cursed him?

 

“Why would he do that, then linger around the mortal?” 

 

“You ask‘Why would Loki do something?’” the other snarked. “Truly?” 

 

“… Perhaps I had not thought that through.” 

 

“Clearly.” 

 

“You guys… are so _annoying_ ,” Tony groaned, forcing his eyes—no, still just one eye—open. It was way too bright, but what the hell, he needed to see what his present company was up to. 

 

Apparently, leaning over him with looks of disgust. Okay, cool, he could live with that. 

 

“Why are you in my tower?” he rasped, which was great, because that meant he had maybe ten more minutes before his stomach started bleeding and his throat stopped working, and fuck, fuck Loki. Fuck him so hard.   
  
Or not at all. Don’t fuck him at all, he didn’t deserve any fucking. 

 

“Where has Loki gone?” The beard asked. 

 

“Somewhere,” he replied. 

 

“Tell us before I break your neck,” The sneery-lady growled.

 

“L-look, I don’t actually… know. He does this all the time, i’m not his baby s-sitter.” 

 

“What are you then?” 

 

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but what was the answer? Did he tell them he was the key to Loki’s magic? Probably not, he had no idea who the hell these people were. He couldn’t exactly call him anything relationshipy right now, or maybe _ever,_ after the shit he just pulled. His brain, however, didn’t like not having some come back to offer.

 

He blurted out, “ _dying_.” 

 

The angry warrior babe flashed another grimace and stepped out of sight, leaving the beard and the blonde dude to stare at him. At least blondie looked almost sad about the whole dying thing, that was sweet, really. 

 

“Loki left you to die, then?” the blonde asked, making Tony retract his previous statement immediately. 

 

“I’m s-sure he… just popped out… for some ice cream… or murder… you know how he is.” 

 

“So, he _has_ left you to die.” 

 

Tony rolled his eyes, and forced himself up into a pathetic, leaning, sitting position. If he was going to die, he was not going to do it laying flat on his back. Unless he was flat on his back with someone—yeah, no, that clearly wasn’t in the cards. Oh well. 

 

_Be careful of them_ , the voice chimed in. 

 

_Ever so helpful, thank you._

 

“What is your name, mortal?” the beard asked, stepping back to join some guy dressed like a ninja gone wrong while the not-nice blonde guy stalked around him in a creepy, hyena way.  

 

“You come into _my_ tower and ask _my_ name?” Tony drawled. Well, as best he could, he wasn’t kidding about the time limit on talking. 

 

“You own this?”

 

“Yeah, and several others. A-actually, about 120 buildings right now. A lot of factories, and i’m not counting the s-storage or private airports… that’d put it well over 300.”

 

“Are you some sort of prince in this realm, then?” 

 

“I doubt it,” the nasty lady hissed. 

 

Tony snapped a finger at her, which was probably a bad idea, but whatever, and said, “Hey, Xena, why don’t you go do something useful, and not _be_ here anymore?” 

 

“I could kill you before you utter another—“ 

 

“Word—oh, look, not dead,” Tony quipped, letting his eyes fall closed again. There was no point in looking around, he’d either die ‘before he uttered another word’, or he’d die slowly of radiation poisoning. Again. He was so pissed at Loki. In fact, if Loki ever showed his face again, Tony was going to _stab him at least three times._

 

“Hnn,” one of the looming jerks grunted. “I see he is no fan of Loki, himself.”

 

“…Did I say that out loud?”

 

“Aye, you did. Quite viciously.” 

 

Tony snorted, which brought blood up his throat and into his nose and mouth. After coughing, and making it worse, and finally managing to get air again, he replied, “Loki… and I are having a spat.”

 

“A… what?”

 

“I guess you guys w-would call it a ‘quarrel’, if my assumption is correct and you’re all from Asgard.” 

 

“You have quarreled with him, and he cursed you to die,” someone hummed, sounding way too amused for Tony’s liking. He snapped his good eye open, and glared at the blonde. 

 

“You’re too happy about this, Debby Harry.”

 

“My name is Fandral, and I—“

 

“No one actually cares what y-your name… is,” Tony interrupted, waving lazily at him. He was getting tired, they should really just go away. He should tell them that. “Look… Loki’s not coming back for me. He’s probably off cutting our bond or whatever… r-right now.”

 

“Your bond?”

 

“Where?” 

 

The voice added, _You are too late,_ because it was useless. 

 

“For what?” he murmured out loud, only vaguely aware of the confused faces in front of him. Didn’t he tell them to go away already? 

 

_To be careful._

 

Oh. 

 

_Pop!_

 

_Oh_ , those arms were _so_ nice to feel again. 

 

“ _Hush_ ,” Loki whispered in his ear, and it didn’t matter that the other voices were erupting in cries of fury or surprise. It didn’t matter that there were swords being drawn, and threats being made. 

 

“You… you came back…”

 

And Loki promised, “Always.” 

 

“They’re… gonna kill you,” Tony replied, because answering a promise like that was hard, and he was barely concious again, thanks to Loki’s presence. He needed more time, then he could fire up the old gray-matter. 

 

“Undoubtably.”

 

Someone was arguing, but there were still swords, so whatever.

 

“But you still came back.” 

 

“Yes.”

 

“N-nice use of single words there, direct and right to the point.” 

 

Loki might have added another single-word response to their repertoire, but people were tugging at them, and yelling some more, and it really ruined the moment there.

 

“Remove him from me again, Volstagg, and I will make sure each and every one of your children scream for you as I kill them before your very eyes.”   
  
They actually let Tony back into the god’s arm, because Loki was good at promises like that. 

 

“You are to return to Asgard,” the beard growled, his sword at Loki’s throat. And Loki just grinned, and leaned into it like he _liked_ bleeding. “There will be no escape this time.” 

 

Loki’s smile gained too many teeth to be called a smile anymore, and he purred, “As long as I may keep my… pet.” 

 

“ _Excuse_ me?!”

 

“He wishes for such poor company in his cell?” the blonde guy sneered. Fandral, or whatever. “Let him have it, if not only for the amusement of his guards.” 

 

“Okay, firstly,” Tony began, rage managing to kick up some brain activity. “I am not a _pet_ , and secondly, _no_ , I refuse to be dragged off to—“ 

 

“Anthony, do not—“ 

 

“Hold them tightly, we must return to the roof.” 

 

Tony lashed out at them, and by their standards it was probably pretty feeble, but he did manage to catch the blonde guy in the gut before he was lifted right off the ground. 

 

“Loki, I s-swear to fucking god!” he screeched, twisting around to find Loki being clamped between two others. “If you get me… locked up in your g-god damn cell with you… I will do unspeakable things to you!” 

 

Loki’s glare had a hint of, ‘ _Shut the fuck up if you want to live_ ’, which Tony did want to do, but also, hell no was he letting this happen. He just wanted to sleep, or snuggle into Loki like they used to when he was blind and actually less miserable. Was that really too much to ask? 

 

Just an hour of happiness. 

 

Ten minutes?

 

Two? 

 

They were already at the top floor, and climbing up the last stretch of stairs to the roof access door. 

 

Everything was slipping away again. Everything. 

  
The other shoe? It was dropping, big time. 

 

“I _hate_ you,” he rasped, no longer looking at Loki. 

 

They all laughed at him.

 

Loki didn’t laugh. He just said, “I know,” and then they were hit with a god-damn rainbow, and his tower—

 

His home was gone, again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear they will have two minutes to themselves again soon. I promise.


	19. Incarcerated Idiocy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up less than amused at Loki's totalassholemove, and begins planning their inevitable escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited.

 

 

 

Exhaustion had long since become a constant state for him, so to wake up feeling nothing but groggy and a tad achy was so entirely new and fantastic that Tony blinked open his eyes with a loud grunt of surprise. It took a moment for them to adjust, his left eye still only seeing darkness, his right having trouble placing that white ceiling up there and the golden glow that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Since when did JARVIS let the light in before Tony’s alarm?

 

“Ah, you awaken.” 

 

Someone else was there—no, not _someone_ , Loki. Tony’s mind sluggishly caught up, reminding him of the betrayal, bearded assholes, and a whole lot of rainbow madness that made his head hurt just thinking about it. Actually, something else hurt a lot more—like, in a super cheesy way. His heart. His heart actually _hurt_ , which was stupid because he _knew_ better than to trust Loki, he _knew_ he was putting himself in a bad position, a bad situation. He _knew_ Loki was a murderer, who lied, cheated, stole, probably really did have sex with that horse. Those were things one should probably consider before sharing an eyeball with someone, and more importantly, kisses. And those were things Tony kind of, sort of… voluntarily ignored. 

 

“Anthony?” 

 

Ah, yes. Now that his brain was finally firing all pistons, there was the current situation to deal with. Namely, the man who was now leaning over Tony with what looked like a genuine look of concern. 

 

_Liar._

 

“Can you hear me?” Loki asked, reaching out to Tony, but letting his hand hover instead of touching him. Something he was glad of, because Tony would hate to start this conversation off by slapping that skinny hand of his away from his person. 

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tony snapped in reply, pushing himself up enough to lean against the wall. Wherever he was, there was a bed tucked into the corner, a small shelf beside that, and a chair somewhere past Loki’s stupid body that Tony did not want to look at. There was also that curious golden light, which seemed to be coming from the two large windows that took up the other two sides of the room. The small room. A cell—they were in a fucking _cell_ , holy shit. Tony was going to murder Loki at least twenty times over. “Do you mind?”

 

“Mind?” Loki repeated, still looking concerned and a little startled at Tony’s demeanor. 

 

_Well get used to it, buddy_ , Tony thought, glaring up at the god. He wasn’t buying those worried eyes, that small frown that bordered on being a pout. Loki, God of fucking Lies. He’d remind himself that until the day he died. Which was probably soon, thanks to—That’s right, Loki God of Lies. 

 

“Don’t hover over me,” Tony replied, pushing himself back enough to get a good amount of space between them. “In fact, why don’t you go sit in your prison chair, and leave me alone?”

 

“Anthon—“ 

 

“Actually, don’t even look at me,” he continued. “That would be even better. Or—ooh, how about you go find yourself your own god damn prison cell?” 

 

Loki let out a weird, wheezy noise, and took a step back. Clearly, this wasn’t what he expected while playing Prince Charming while Tony was sleeping. Tough luck, though. Loki abandoned him, right when he was already in a bad place, right when Thor’s stupid beard-buddies showed up, right after he promised he wouldn’t do that anymore. Second, third, fourth chances were enough, weren’t they? Tony had tried, and the results came back the same every time. No matter the promises, or rare sweetness Loki has shown him here and there, this god standing before him was the same one killing innocent people in New York. 

 

Surprisingly, Loki asked, “Anthony, what has changed?” as if he really wanted to know. 

 

“You left.” 

 

“I returned.”

 

“Yeah, just in time to get me captured and dragged off to—what’s this place again?” Tony tapped his chin and put on a dramatic ‘thinking look’. “Oh! Right, Asgard, the place that wants you locked up with your hands crushed like pancakes for blowing up ‘realms’ in a great big hissy-fit.” 

 

“It was not a—“ 

 

“Yeah, yeah. You had your reasons, apparently. It doesn’t excuse you, not anymore.”

 

Loki’s expression instantly shifted to the same, flat look he put on when something didn’t go his way. “Whatever happened to ‘No one deserves to be tortured’, Stark?”

 

“You _left_.” 

 

Loki sighed, like this was the most tedious thing he’s ever experienced. But Tony wasn’t fooled. He may be blind in one eye, but his other was good enough to notice the way Loki’s fingers clenched into fists, before releasing again. His boredom was an ill-performed farce, and that alone gave Tony the smallest sliver of satisfaction. 

 

And, thankfully, he stopped hovering and sat in the stupid prison chair. It gave Tony the time to really look the god over, while he was seemingly distracted. Loki looked… tired. Which, again, wasn’t that uncommon for either of them these days. Tony imagined that the prince did look healthy and happy at one point in his life, but Tony wasn’t around to see it. Well, actually, maybe ‘happy’. He had seemed happy for a while there. But, you could blink and miss it, honestly. Now, now he just sagged in the chair, green shirt hanging ragged off his body, pants as tight as ever, and—

 

“Are you wearing slippers?” Tony blurted out. 

 

Loki blinked, jarred out of whatever daydream he had fallen into, and looked down at his feet in surprise. “I—yes?” 

 

“They gave you slippers?”

 

“I created them myself.”

 

“Can’t you create a key to get us out of here?”

 

“There is no key,” Loki replied, still looking at his slippered-feet. “At least, not a solid key.”

 

“Soo, you can’t magic us out of here at all?” Tony asked, tucking his legs up against his chest. Loki simply shook his head, and continued to stare wordlessly at his feet. It was a weird thing to see, considering how often the god towered over him, never looking away in shyness or even discomfort. Loki always struck head-on—or pretended to while manipulating things from the side—and yet now… now he seemed to be taking what Tony said literally, and not actually looking at him. 

 

“Loki…” 

 

The god made no sign that he heard him. 

 

“Loki, I’m not—“ _mad_? He was mad, he was pissed. He was pissed off and hurt and just done. With everything. But, there was something off about the way Loki was sitting, about the feeling that spread over them like a dark cloud. Whatever bond they had between them felt stretched and almost foreign now, which was something he would like to address, because as far as Tony knew, if it broke, he died. That and the fact that his eyesight had never returned in his left eye, and he _did_ have a lot of questions about beard and his asshole friends. Maybe he could forgive Loki, for now. 

 

“How about a temporary truce?” He offered, watching Loki over his knees. The god shrugged. “Loki, look at me.”

 

“You said not to.”

 

“And since when have you ever—and I mean _ever_ —listened to what I said?” he mused, managing a small smile. It did the job, however, and a moment later Loki was looking up with grim determination. 

 

“How temporary a truce do you wish for?”

 

It was Tony’s turn to shrug. “However long it takes for you to answer my questions.” 

 

Loki’s expression pinched at this, but he leaned back into prison-chair, and stared at him. Tony waited, and waited, and started to glare when the god simply gestured for him to continue. 

 

“You’re so obnoxious,” he muttered under his breath, before clearing his throat. “Who was that cheerful bunch of people who dragged us in here?”

 

“The guards dragged us in here, but the Warriors Three brought us from Midgard—Earth.”

 

“There were four of them,” Tony argued. “I think—no, yes, there were four. Quiet guy with top knot hair, angry woman with sharp boots, blonde beard, giant red beard.” 

 

“Ah, Lady Sif,” Loki replied, sounding bitter. “She has been attached to Thor for many years now, and any… distraction in his attention for her is often met with violence and sharp words.” 

 

Tony snorted, and was glad not to taste blood for the first time in forever. Which was seriously kind of depressing, when he thought about it. So, he didn’t. 

 

“Alright, so Sif is the jealous Friend-Zone Woman, who are these warriors, then? None of them like you very much, and by association, me.”

 

 

Loki’s expression flickered, something passing too quickly for Tony to name. But the voice in the back of his head told him to _pay attention_. “Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg.” 

 

“Wonderful names,” Tony drawled, rolling his eyes. “Really, three kids set out to be the butt of every joke.” 

 

“Hardly,” Loki replied, flashing a sharp smile. “Three children, all loved and praised more than anyone other than Thor. And Sif, a close fourth in the group. They are Asgard’s most trusted warriors, those they send out to attend to the most difficult situations.”

 

“Sooo… picking you up?”

 

Loki’s smile grew wider, clearly appreciating the insult as a compliment. It made something stir in Tony’s chest. Something he was ignoring, thank you very much. 

 

“I kind of… blacked out during a lot of that. Is there, I don’t know, a day in court coming up? A meeting with good-ol dad? Or are we just stuck in here until I die and you have to chuck my corpse in the corner and ignore the smell?” 

 

Loki didn’t seem to appreciate his humor this time, and looked away at the golden-glowing windows. Now that Tony was looking, too, he could see space beyond them, and clearly more glowing window things. Just as he was wondering what else was out there, someone walked past the window. 

 

“Holy—can they see us in here?” he hissed, automatically pressing back against the wall. “Have they been listening the entire time?” 

 

“Yes, and no.”

 

“Great, that’s—what?” 

 

Loki turned his gaze back to him, and offered Tony the smallest, saddest fucking smile Tony has ever seen. 

 

“There will be no ‘court’ day, as you say. I have long since had my trial, and since I have only added to my list of offenses, not much has changed for my future,” he began, voice flat. “Odin refuses to meet with me, Thor is still on Earth, I assume, and… My magic has once again been dampened by the All-Father.” 

 

“And what I assume are guards? See us? Hear us?” 

 

“They can see us, but they have very little interest in our conversations.” Loki glanced away, and back again. “Lest they wish to mock me. Then they hold much more interest in my person.” 

 

Tony scowled at the guard passing outside again, never once looking their way. “I feel like that’s a mistake, on their parts.”

 

“They know I cannot do anything to repay them for their comments.”

 

“Not that—well, yes that—but the not paying attention to our conversations part.”

 

“And why is that?” Loki asked, brow raised. 

 

Tony put on his best innocent look, and said, “Because anyone listening might realize that we’re planning on escaping.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“—And after that, all we have to do is dig our way out. Easy-peasy.” 

 

Three days after the mortal suggested, quite loudly, that they begin planning an escape, Loki was sure he had done some irreparable damage to the man’s brain. Dozens of ideas streamed from Anthony’s mouth, each more dangerous and elaborate than the last, but none workable or even logical. It was as though… as though he had lost that part of him that connected his sporadic thoughts into solid planning and foresight. It worried Loki, something he would at least admit to himself, because Anthony never seemed to have this issue before. Whatever damage he sustained after Loki left him seemed to be more than he initially thought. He should have checked him before they were dragged away, at least healed his mind before they locked away his magic once more. But, no. He had failed Stark, so fully that the man hardly touched him anymore.   
  
It didn’t seem to matter if closeness was good for their health, or that Loki still craved it for other, more personal reasons. Stark simply would not allow it, and pushed the god away twice before Loki stopped making further attempts to be close to him. The only time they were close enough to touch was when they shared the bed, and one of them would unconsciously shift closer in the night. There was also the issue of his eye, which had yet to heal and seemed to be almost dead. But, Anthony would’t let him touch it, and got rather prickly when Loki attempted to examine the damned thing.  
  
So, he left him alone, and let him babble his useless plans into the silence. At least, until Fandral appeared outside their cell, and interrupted him. 

 

“What’s this I hear? Devious plans?” Fandral purred, leaning close to the shield that locked them in. 

 

“Hardly,” Anthony replied, flashing an easy smile at the blonde. “Did you come for a visit? I don’t think i’ll be good company, i’ve been stuck in here with _him_ and it’s made me grumpy.” 

 

That earned the mortal a bright laugh from Fandral, and a scowl from him. There was no need for petty insults, they had been civil since the so-called ‘truce’ was set in place. 

 

“You’re welcome to come out at any time, if you would rather spend it in company with me.”

 

Anthony tilted his head, and replied flirtatiously, “Such a _tempting_ offer, really, how could I resist?”

 

Loki hissed something under his breath, and shifted ever so slightly closer to Stark. The man may hate him for his abandonment, but Loki would rather die than let Fandral get his dirty little hands on his mortal. 

 

_My mortal._

 

_Yeessss,_ the voice hissed. Loki nearly rolled his eyes.

 

“Why, oh why would you resist?” Fandral was asking, his smirk growing wider, eyes quite literally fluttering at the mortal. Disgusting, truly. 

 

But Anthony was smiling warmly, making Loki’s stomach turn in a terribly unpleasant way, and leaned towards Fandral with obvious interest. 

 

“I might consider it, if you tell me one, teeny-tiny thing…”

 

“Ah, a trade?” Fandral replied, more than just his curiosity piqued. “Please, do tell me what you wish to know.”

 

“For starters, how someone as hideous on the inside as you are manages to cultivate a passable beard, and why anyone in the universe want to spend time with ‘poor company’ like you?” Anthony asked, all pretense if flirtation gone in a second. His expression was sharp, tone deadly, and something much more pleasant squirmed in Loki’s chest. He did adore the way this mortal got so dangerous. 

 

Fandral stumbled back as if struck by a physical blow, eyes wide and mouth gaping. He had been completely caught off guard, which wasn’t as much of a surprise as Loki finding himself startled by the sudden change. Pleasantly surprised, but surprised all the same. Loki did not get startled, or fooled, or tricked, or manipulated. Not anymore. And yet, for a moment, he had firmly believed that Stark held interest in Fandral, and clearly the warrior had assumed the same. 

 

Sputtering, Fandral drew himself up to his full hight. “You—You filthy little—!” 

 

“Now, now, darling,” Loki interrupted, slipping just a hint of his remaining magic into his voice. “There is no need for name-calling. You may _go_.”

 

Fandral hovered, face red from anger and embarrassment so strong Loki could smell it. There was a moment he was sure the blonde would enter, drawing a sword to fight for the return of his honor—or some such nonsense—but the moment passed, and Fandral left in a huff. 

 

A loud guffaw burst out beside him. 

 

Loki turned to blink stupidly at the man, who was laughing and shaking his head. They had both been sitting on the bed when Fandral appeared, Anthony babbling another unless plan while Loki dozed off to the sound of his voice droning on and on. Now, it seemed, they were seated shoulder to shoulder, and when Loki met Anthony’s eyes, something sparked between them. 

 

“Do you think they bought it?” Anthony asked quietly, leaning into him with eyes brighter than Loki has seen since before they arrived here. 

 

“Bought… what, exactly?” 

 

“My ‘plans’.” 

 

“You’re nonsense plans of escape?” Loki asked, getting caught up in the way Stark’s lips quirked up into a smile. 

 

“My three days of bull-shit plans that could never work, but are close enough to work to catch their attention and send one of the warriors down to spy on us,” he replied. Loki could feel his breath on his face, now. “The one I just pissed off waaaay too easily, and who will come back within the next few days to make sure I know how pissed off he is, because guys like that have to get the last word.” 

 

Loki forced himself to look away from Stark’s mouth, and focus on those brilliant eyes of his. Well, one was brilliant, as golden amber as he remembered them to be. The other was still a dull green, staring unseeing at Loki between blinks. He would need to amend this, especially since it left them both blind in one eye, and weaker as a whole. 

 

“And?”

 

“ _He_ is our escape plan,” Anthony added in a whisper, their lips just brushing together. 

 

Loki murmured, “Oh?” and shivered just a little. Being this close was… empowering. Quite literally, since Anthony brought his magic back to the surface again by the smallest touches alone. 

 

“Is _this_ a part of your plan, too?” he asked, brushing his fingers up Stark’s arm. Both of them shivered, this time, and Loki hoped—wished it meant he was forgiven. He needed to be forgiven, for being foolish, for running away again. 

 

“Yes,” Anthony replied, “And no…just—fuck—just _kiss_ me.” 

 

Loki felt a weight lift from his chest, one he wasn’t aware had even formed, and leaned into to steal a slow, gentle kiss. And another.

 

And another. 

 

And more kisses, until they fell into the bed giggling like idiots, wrapped around one another, high on relief. 

 

“I _have_ missed you,” Loki admitted, cupping Stark’s face in his hands and staring at him with no shame left to spare. He had missed him, much more than he realized. 

 

“I’m still pissed at you,” Anthony said, making Loki hesitate. But he was smiling, with real warmth this time. “But, yeah, I guess I missed you too.” 

 

“Have I apologized for leaving you, yet?”

 

“Uhh, let me think.. no.” 

 

Loki chuckled again, and kissed Stark’s pout. “Then I apologize, deeply, for leaving you. especially that it ended in our capture together.” 

 

“That part I’m not minding so much,” Stark said with a tiny shrug. “This has been the most peaceful couple of days i’ve had in a while. Like a mini-vacation I was forced to take.” 

 

“Yet you aim to escape?” Loki teased, enjoying the way the man melted against him. 

 

“Well, yeah, see, there’s the whole hand-crushing thing and magic dampening thing that I don’t like. That, and as pretty as this golden stuff is, it’s giving me a headache and I miss sleeping in my own bed.” 

 

“We may… have a while yet before we can return to your bed,” Loki pointed out, regretting reminding the man of this. But, it was the truth, and he was making attempts at being more honest to Stark. If he was going to cultivate this bond between them, it was clearly something that needed to happen.  


“I know.”

  
Anthony shifted a little, but his smile never fell away. He seemed too content to let such news drag him down, and Loki watched as his eyes drifted closed, and his body sunk into the mattress with exhaustion. Apparently, fake-planning took a lot of energy, so Loki kissed his forehead, and settled in against him. 

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Loki whispered, “I won’t leave you again,” his heart full of promise.   
  
There was no response, this time, and Loki wished it was because Anthony had already fallen asleep.

 

He let the silence fall, and reminded himself that he had time to earn himself the answer he wanted to hear. 


	20. Through Gold Colored Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep deprived, annoyed, and maybe suffering from cabin-fever, Tony makes a quick decision that might help with their escape attempt. 
> 
> Back home, the Avengers discover that the man they're trying to save, and the god they really just don't like are no longer on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Not betad]

 

 

Gold. 

 

It was gold forever, gold up, gold down, gold to the left, right, walls, bowls, blankets, fucking _everything_. 

 

Now, Tony liked gold. As an accent. Like, a nice gold lining on a tie, or maybe going a little more extravagant for his Ironman persona. But no one healthy in the head had this much gold, seriously. The worst part, however, was how he _always_ had to look at it. That's right, that nice, warm glow of the energy stuff spread around the cell to keep them locked away? It never stopped glowing. Ever. They got 24/7 golden glow for all their what-is-sleep needs, and it was driving him insane. 

 

Sighing, Tony removed the pillow from his face and tilted his head to glare around the small, brightly lit cell he'd been sharing with a petulant god for five weeks now. Not much has changed since he first woke up there, a few things had been moved around, the chair was now closer to the bed so Loki’s feet could be pressed into his side as he lounged in it. The thing between them had changed, at least into something more comfortable this time. Whatever was holding them back when they were on Earth was gone, and whatever reservations he personally had just didn’t seem to matter here. Maybe it was the whole being imprisoned thing, the chance that any one of these days could be their last, or maybe it was something worse. Maybe he’d been _that_ worried, that guilty to be around his old team and be close to Loki. Which was stupid, because he’s Tony Stark, he didn’t care what people think.

 

Except when he did, and then he cared a _lot_. 

 

Which was why their whole antagonistic, bouncing off one another relationship had grown tiring. Tony was trying for a more mellow outlook, something a little more like sleepy kisses and memories of blueberries. Which was hard to do when your partner was once again in a huff over god-damn _nothing_. 

 

 

"This is a form of torture," he remarked, gesturing to the humming energy keeping them contained. "This whole never letting you sleep in the dark thing is actually a form of torture, and I would know,because of reasons.” 

 

Loki shrugged. “Shut one eye.”

 

Tony lifted his pillow into the air, and whipped it at the god's head as hard as he could. I hit Loki’s head with a satisfying _thwap_ , and mussed up his shiny, black locks just as Tony intended. Nothing like a little magic-dampening to even the odds for him.

 

"You don't get to make snarky comments about my blind eye," Tony said, stealing Loki's pillow from the other side of the bed and shoving it over his face to replace the one he threw. 

 

"And you are not allowed to speak to me, if I recall correctly."

 

"Mmhmph." Tony lifted the pillow to speak again. “Oh, right, because of whatever little tantrum you're having this time. What was this one about, again? Regal me with the details of your bitchiness.” 

 

Something next to him creaked in a way that things creak when they're squeezed _really_ hard, and Tony grinned behind his pillow. 

 

“Because,” Loki hissed, “Your ridiculous plan was worthless! Because it has been weeks with no sign of Fandral, Odin, or anyone else we could utilize in our escape." 

 

"Aaaaand that's somehow my fault?" 

 

"Yes!"

 

"Even though I have little to no control over external forces in our plans that–hmmm–rely heavily on said external forces to work?" Tony mused, peeking out from behind his pillow to find Loki glaring directly at him. He could already tell this was a win for him. 

 

_Current score: 3 Tony - 5 Loki_

 

"Just—be silent." 

 

Tony hesitated, because he _was_ a small cell and he _was_ still a breakable human. But… mellow. They needed to settle this before plans got underway without them dealing with this stupid shit first, and the next thing you know you’re being abandoned and kidnapped because _someone_ was a horrible God sometimes.

 

"I don't see you coming up with any plans," he said, sitting up and pushing himself against the wall. "Unless that Edward Cullen sulking act you've got going on over there is some sort of master escape plan. Will you brood them to death?” 

 

Loki jerked his head around, both of his eyes flaring vivid green–to red as his other nature bled through in anger. Tony would flinch, if he had the energy to be creeped out anymore. Honestly, Loki's reaction to acknowledging his little changes was worse than him recognizing the changes on his own. Tony had already learned to pretend that they didn't happen, like his mom pretended she didn't see Tony slink away whenever his father came home after drinking. Or how Pepper pretended she would always stand by him, but the second he's blamed for an explosion in SHEILD that leaves him blind, she's outa there. 

 

Denial, denial, denial. The only way to live.

 

“Boys, behave,” Someone chuckled, before Loki could argue with Tony over the health benefits of brooding. 

 

"Fandral..." Loki hissed, the book in his hands snapping shut in a very final sort of way. 

 

"Frost Giant," Fandral greeted with a smirk. "I see your true colors are shining through now that your magic has been removed. I cannot express how pleasant it is to see a Jotun runt in its place.” 

 

There was a single blink-and-you'll-miss-it flicker of confusion on Loki's face before he mastered his usual look of complete distain and, oh, right, Tony maybe should have said something after all. About the blind eye on Loki's side of things, and how it's apparently been Frost Giant red for a few days now. Tony frowned, noting how it seemed completely unfocused, even as Loki and Fandral exchanged barbs. 

 

"Stark, I wish to speak with you."

 

Tony blinked, trying to read back into the conversation he had just missed. Loki had just sneered something icy and sarcastic at the blonde, but it was probably irrelevant. Shrugging, Tony launched himself out of the bed, over Loki’s legs, and sidled on over to the edge of the cell. Fandral looked almost ethereal the closer you got to the shielding, especially with the  golden glow all around him. It’s too bad the outside didn’t match the inside, if Loki’s stories of this man were true. 

 

"So, when do we start pronouncing our love and quoting Shakespeare?" He quipped, enjoying the easy-to-read expressions flickering across his opponent's face. Shock, confusion, mild disgust. "Let me warn you now, I don't get hot and bothered by poetry unless it's in zeros and ones and Iambic Pentameter."

 

Loki scoffed behind him, and Tony ignored it.

 

_Whatever, God Who Bitches About Slippers, you wouldn't know romance if it grew horns and bit you on the ass._

 

_Careful,_ the back-of-his-mind voice reminded him.

 

Fandral, still looking a bit lost, replied, "You know very well my offer had nothing to do with love, of course. I bring a business transaction, a simple barter between the two of us, nothing more.”

 

And wasn’t _that_ surprising. Tony had planned for anger, posturing, lots of ‘How dare you’s’ and the really important part _of Fandral entering the cell to do something violent_. Instead, the idiot was keeping his offer for Tony to be his fancy whore and feel special. Which was… ugh, but, well, he could work with it.

 

"Hmm..." Tony tapped a finger against his now-dangerously scruffy beard. "If I'm remembering this right, I trade you... sex... for what, exactly?" 

 

"You—for your life! Was that not obvious?" 

 

Tony hummed, "nope." 

 

Fandral drew himself up with all the same bluster Thor used to throw around before he started to mellow out. Mellow was Tony’s word of the day. "If you would rather die like a dog with this embodiment of trash, then—"

 

"Waaait, wait wait." Tony sighed, and put up a hand to stall him. "I changed my mind, I'll do it." 

 

Something shattered behind him at the same time Fandral sputtered and took a step back, and Tony was _not_ turning around to see what Loki just did, he just wasn't. 

 

"In exchange for _our_ freedom," he added. 

 

"No." 

 

Tony scowled immediately. "A little fast with your answer there, pal." 

 

"Loki is not a part of our deal, nor any other deal we may strike.”

 

“But he’s so _cute_.”

 

Fandral’s flat expression said everything he wanted to say, and more. The man was done waiting, and this really wasn’t Tony’s day for planning, was it? He had a feeling this would be the last time the straw-chinned idiot was going to bring him an offer—and quite possibly be the last time he visits the cell, too. Was this his only chance to get out of here? Was there really no other way?

 

_Carefully_. 

 

Tony swallowed the urge to scream. 

 

“You have a deal.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki would have liked to tell himself it was the lack of sleep that had his—that had Stark stepping through the opening and into Fandral’s arms, but he knew better. He knew Stark would take any chance offered to remove himself from their prison, just as he would. 

 

_Not anymore._

 

True, but that was not such a good thing now, was it? Making promises to never leave, to stay by Anthony’s side for more reasons than simple self-preservation, did not mean Stark was expected to do the same. Which was why, when the mortal turned back the first and only time, Loki looked him directly in the eye, and smiled. 

 

Because he was willing to pretend to be happy for him, even when he was not. 

 

 

And Stark winked. 

 

_Oh._

 

Oh no, he was going to do something foolish and dangerous. How perfect. 

 

“See you soon,” Loki whispered, and let Fandral take his mortal away. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The tower was dark when they returned, soot-stained and exhausted. For some reason, it felt like the final straw for Steve, the last stab to his heart. Why he had expected the tower to be online, for Tony to be upstairs, grumpy but present, for a chance to figure this mess out? Sure, there was probably very little chance of bringing Tony in to SHIELD of his own volition, but maybe they could do something here to test him out and just… make sure that was really Tony Stark standing next to Loki as a building full of people burned. 

 

God, he was so tired. He really just wanted to come _home_ , and this dark, empty shell of a tower wasn’t one. 

 

“Steve.” 

 

Glancing up, Steve caught Clint’s concerned frown before the archer flashed a weak smile. “Nat’s turning JARVIS back on, and I think Bruce and Thor are muttering dark things in the kitchen.” 

 

“Should she turn JARVIS back on without Tony?” Steve asked, more concerned about the inventor’s wrath than the two upset team mates in the kitchen. They needed more than a pat on the back right now, and Steve didn’t have much more than that to offer right now. 

 

“That’s what I said,” Clint agreed, shrugging. “But she told me she knew what she was doing, which is code for ‘Don’t question me, or i’ll render you unconscious and stash you on a ship to Hong Kong, again’.” 

 

“Again?” 

 

“ _Phoenix protocol initiated,_ ” JARVIS announced loudly.

  
Steve and Clint both rolled their eyes at the name, and flinched when the lights suddenly came on. 

 

“Guys,” Natasha’s voice called out over the intercoms, “There’s something you need to see.”

 

Cursing and rubbing his eyes, Clint stumbled back down the hallway towards the main meeting room with Steve following close behind. They run into Bruce and Thor already on the elevator, and exchange grim nods of recognition. Whatever Natasha’s found, it undoubtably has something to do with the empty tower, and a missing Tony Stark. 

 

“We know where they went,” Natasha announced as soon as they stepped into the room. She was still covered in blood and ash, as most of them were. “JARVIS alerted me as soon as he was finished berating me for shutting him down.” 

 

“How does he know where they went if he was offline?” Bruce asked, pulling out a chair and settling into it with the same deep-seated exhaustion as Steve felt. The man may not have seen battle today, but this year has taken a lot out of all of them. 

 

“He was still online in two of Tony’s suits, thanks to the air-gap,” Natasha explained as she tapped a few things on the screen in front of her. Steve had no idea what an ‘air-gap’ was, or why that helped anyone, but he figured it must be relevant if Bruce was nodding in understanding. He should probably look into it, for future instances of JARVIS malfunctions. 

 

A larger screen appeared above the meeting table, and Natasha continued, “There’s video, apparently, of Loki and Tony’s return to the tower. You can’t see everything, unfortunately, due to the angle of the suit, but you can clearly see them arrive here—“ On screen, both men appear by the door looking as grim and tired as Steve felt. Tony’s suit fell away from him sloppily, clattering to the floor as Loki reached out to hold him up. After a minute or two of bickering, Loki left him to… fall to the floor, apparently. 

 

“No sound?” Bruce inquired. 

“Tony just told Loki to, ‘go get stuff, i’m going to die—or lie—on the floor,’” Clint said, earning himself a look of surprise from most of the team. “What? I’m a spy, I can read lips.” 

 

“Aaannd Loki said something dirty just there,” he added a minute later, before the Loki on screen disappeared again. There was a long moment of nothing on screen—where Tony, presumedly, laid on the floor—before the god appeared to drag Tony off screen. 

 

“Where—“ Steve began to ask. 

 

“Cot,” Natasha answered, shrugging at his confused look. “It makes sense, considering Tony’s willing to lay around on his workshop floor.”

 

“That’s giving a lot of credit to Loki in the ‘I give a shit’ department,” Clint pointed out.

 

“My brother is capable of caring, Archer,” Thor interrupted, expression sour. 

 

“Really? So he blew up half the city out of the fondness in his heart?” Clint mused, something sharp creeping into his voice. Thor moved to get out of seat, when Tony suddenly appeared on screen for a second, before falling back to the floor. 

 

“What was that about?” Bruce wondered as he stood up to move closer to the screen. “Did you guys see that?”

 

“Loki’s saying something to him, what’s he saying?” 

 

“I can’t see his lips from this angle,” Clint complained. 

 

Loki vanished just as Tony reappeared near the bottom of the screen, reaching for the god with what looked like a desperate cry. Steve let out a small, hurt sound at the site of his teammate screaming at air on screen. He’d been abandoned, again. 

 

But not for long, because moments later, several people appeared in the room looking very… Thor-like. 

 

“Your friends?” Steve asked, turning to see Thor’s face grow pale. 

 

“He’s choking Tony,” Bruce stated in that flat, dangerous voice that meant he was trying _very_ hard not to let the other guy take over soon. Whatever conversation between the group and Tony didn’t last long, however, because Tony was soon a limp mass in the larger man’s arms. 

 

“That is Volstagg, my friend,” Thor whispered. He ran a hand down his face, and sighed. “They are here for Loki, not Stark.”

 

“Then why are they guarding him like that?” 

“And bad-mouthing him,” Clint added, sounding oddly protective. 

 

But several things were happening on screen, now. The group seemed to argue with Tony, until there was a flash of light off screen, and suddenly Loki and Tony were being hoisted up by the larger, bearded man. 

 

“Oh no,” Thor hissed, dropping his hand away from his face as everyone on screen left through the door to the workroom. 

 

“Did they just—“

 

“They _took_ them,” Steve breathed, staring at the screen and hoping, praying he was wrong. If these were Thor’s friends, that meant Tony was somewhere none of them could reach. 

 

“They took them to Asgard,” Thor said, and the room fell into silence.

 

Once again, they were too late. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Fandral was maybe not _quite_ as horrible as Tony initially thought. At least, not to the people he wanted things from. The entire trip to his rooms was spent listening to him brag about his stunning achievements, dirty comments about some lady named Sif, and weirdly nice compliments about his own looks. Which were unexpected, and a little odd to be hearing when Tony knew for a fact that Fandral lived and breathed distain for ‘mortals’. But, he also knew how people act when they want something from you. 

 

Which wouldn’t be too bad, if the thing Fandral wanted from him wasn’t sex. But, okay, he can work with this. He’s dealt with unwanted advances before, flirted with people he found disgusting to get what he wanted. Tony can totally do this. 

 

 

“This is where you shall sleep when you aren’t needed.” Fandral swung his arm out in a wide, all-encompassing gesture that was too grand for the tiny hallway of a room he was showing off. It was the size of some of the smaller, sadder closet spaces in the Stark Tower. The ones that held the cleaning robots, a mop—as per Bruce’s demands that humans can clean too—and a stray item of clothing someone lost while drunkenly wandering around the halls. Somehow, there was a bed shoved in there, and for one horrible moment Tony had an image of himself, slowly decomposing in there while Loki died off in his golden, glowing cell. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe he should run screaming back to Loki instead of pretending he had any resemblance to a plan here. 

 

“It’s smaller than the cell I just left,” he complained, instead. 

 

Fandral hummed, and seemed to consider his argument for a moment. “When you prove that your services are worth a larger room, I will give you one.”

 

“Oh, i’m worth it,” Tony purred, flashing Fandral his ‘Class B’ flirtation smile. The one that started out shy—a little biting of the lips—and widened into something more hungry and inviting. The blonde didn’t exactly fall over his feet to get on him, but there was definitely a hint of interest in his eyes. 

 

“We shall see,” was all the man said before leading Tony forward to continue the tour. “In here, you will see my clothing and some of my personal belongings. You are not to go in here unless you are given express permission to do so.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, and bit back a comment on ‘gold lame’, before he ruined everything. Forget what he said before, this was going to be _hard_. He wasn’t made to be nice, he lived for nasty little comments about people he didn’t like—cough, Fandral, cough—and snappy comebacks and snooping, and speaking in general.

  
They stopped by the entrance of yet another room, and Tony leaned in to give the space a curious glance. It was pretty much what he expected, extravagant, old-timy, gold stuff everywhere. 

 

“These are my sleeping chambers, which you are not—“

 

“To go into unless given express permission to do so?” Tony finished for him, smirking. 

 

He didn’t see the hit coming, which was stupid of him. It struck him hard enough to knock him to the floor, but not enough to knock loose any teeth, thankfully. Surprised, and head ringing, Tony dared to glance back up and Fandral, expecting anger and finding… nothing.   
  
“You will also hold your tongue,” the man added, sounding as bored as ever. Like hitting Tony across the face didn’t even register, which it probably didn’t. Shit. 

 

Tony was _so_ bad at holding his tongue. 

 

“That’s probably not going to happen,” he said, because he’s stupid. Angering the guy was not part of the plan anymore, idiot. 

 

_Be careful,_ the voice whispered. 

 

He did see the booted foot coming for his face, and blocked it with his arms. It left his stomach open for the next hit, and Tony sputtered out a curse as his stomach heaved up the fruit Loki let him have for breakfast. 

 

Loki was nice, sometimes. 

 

Another kick, this time to his ribs, sent him skidding backwards into the wall with a wounded yelp. 

 

“Not to worry, mortal…” Tony got his arms around his stomach just in time to block the next hit. “I was prepared for this sort of thing.”

 

“W-what—“ Tony choked out, glaring up at the man with no holds barred. Fuck him, Tony wasn’t going to pretend if this was how it was going to be. 

 

Fandral’s flat expression had broken out into an almost blissful smile as he struck out with another kick. “I knew I would have to beat this nonsense out of you.”

 

Tony choked, tried to roll away, failed. 

 

_Be careful._

 

Another kick, hitting his back hard enough to rattle his ribcage. 

 

“I’ve been looking forward to it since I first saw you, even more so after your little _comments_ last we met.” 

 

A laugh tore itself from Tony’s bloody lips, because of course. Of _course_. Tony had read him right the first time, and had been too blinded by desperation to see what this really was. There better ways than charming someone to get what you wanted. 

 

_Never mind… Fandral is exactly as horrible as I expected_ , he thought before his head exploded in pain. 

 


	21. Your Persistent Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony plans for the perfect escape, but doesn't account for Fandral or Loki's 'issues'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Some fighting/abuse

 

 

 

Loki was known for his planning, his patience, his  _persistence_. He had spent many years watching and waiting when waiting and watching was necessary, but it was always more difficult for him when carefully laid plans went awry. Just as Stark's plans seem to have gone. 

 

It had been two days since the mortal walked off with that disappointing blonde creature, and Loki was left with no news whatsoever. If only Anthony could use signal magic, or had a Whisper Vase, then Loki would have some idea of what has transpired beyond the walls of his cell. As it were, he was left with nothing but a single book he had long since read, the faint scent of the mortal in their bed, and guards that shared nothing more than glares and mockeries of his hideous red eye.

 

Oh, and of course even the eye had let him down. 

 

What was once a tentative connection between them, was now as blind and useless as Stark's eyes before their pathetic attempt at healing them. To make matters worse, Loki wasn't sure either of them would ever get their sight back after their last separation. He should have taken the time to heal them when he had the chance, but time always seemed to be a luxury Loki could not afford.

 

He just... he really wished he could know what was going on. 

 

The terrible thing was, Loki knew Fandral. He had seen the sort of things the man was capable of, the things Thor and his friends would hide away from Odin and make jokes of after the fact. How funny it was, watching a man with a fractured spine try to crawl away from Fandral, how hilarious to watch him cry for his family. How amusing were those young— _terribly_  young women who fled from his bedchambers looking terrified in shades of black and blue. Laugh at the servants he screamed at, giggle at the tailor he scarred for life, jeer along with him as he mocked and bullied Thor's only brother time and time again. At least Loki was too quick for Fandral to ever lay a hand on him. Anthony was not nearly as wily as him, and was even worse at holding his tongue. 

 

Anthony was not made to be a whipping boy.

 

Anthony could very well be dead already. But—no, surely not. Loki would feel it in his magic, just as their separation had begun to wear at him once again. They were close enough, it seemed, to refrain from deterioration, but the distance still made his hands ache. Surely that was a sign of life, some proof that not all was lost just yet. Loki would have to be patient. 

 

What else could he do? 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Tony was a teenager, he got in some pretty big fights. Well, not really 'fights' so much as attempted ass-kickings. Because the people who tried to pull the whole, 'let's punch a nerd' thing with him got the not-so-pleasant surprise of 12 years of kickboxing and other self defense classes shoved in their faces, followed by a check cut out to them for their silence. Yeah, that's right, Howard would pay the families off for failing to beat up his own son. It would have been funny, if it wasn't so annoying. 

 

That sort of childhood, however, granted him the unique knowledge and experience to kick ass. Tony—to this very day—still remembered the best advice one of his trainers gave him. 

 

" _You gotta pick your fights—pick your battles and choose how far you're gonna' go. Because life sure as hell ain't gonna' let you pick your opponents."_  

 

It was good advice. If only his trainer could see him now. 

 

Tony had  _tried_  to pick his fights, to hold his tongue and do what needed to be done for the sake of  _The Plan_. The problem was, Fandral didn't pick fights like a normal fucking person. He was as unpredictable as Loki, smiling at him one second and back-handing him the next. Tony would kneel next to him, as he directed, and suddenly it was the wrong side, or he did it the wrong way, or not fast enough. Nothing he did satisfied the bastard, and the constant, manic tension was growing heavy on Tony's mind and body.

 

Or, maybe it was the first hints of radiation poisoning coming back to haunt him. 

 

When did he last see Loki's scowling face? Days—weeks ago? Time blurred together, between the ridiculous circus of 'servant training,' and the never-ending dance of avoiding certain unpleasant situations. Situations like the one he was currently trying to get out of. 

 

"I want no less than ten," Fandral told the snobbish-looking man in front of them. Whoever he was, he was one of the lucky ones, nearly holy in the servant's world, and safe from Fandral's violent outbursts. 

 

"I expect two banquet tables this time," Fandral continued. "None of that pathetic crowding on one bench. If we can't use the main hall for our celebration, we might at least  _try_  to show people we are still high status." 

 

Yeah, Tony had no idea what this was about. Fandral had kept him close during the week, but Tony had still managed to creep away the few times things edged towards bad-touching. Obviously he had missed whatever this celebration was for, which was an error Tony couldn't afford. If the event ran long enough, if Fandral got drunk enough... maybe Tony had a chance to escape and grab Loki on his way out. 

 

Tony silently cursed himself for chickening out the last three times Fandral's hands found their way down his pants, and stubbornly settled in on his knees. He wasn't going to budge, not this time. He needed as much information as he could get before the party. That being said, kneeling beside Fandral in what barely passed as a butt flap while the man curled his fingers into his hair wasn't easy. The urge to leap up and stab the blonde bastard in the eyes was stronger with every stroke over his head. 

 

Tony eyed the man standing before Fandral's chair, and was ignored. He couldn't have been anyone too important, he wore a slightly nicer version of the outfit Tony had seen on the servants that moved in and out of Fandral's chambers all day. Clearly, he was of a higher class, whatever that might be. Whoever he was, he knew what Fandral did to his personal servants, and had obviously long since learned to turn a blind eye. 

 

_Fuck you_ , Tony thought, giving the words and extra push just in case someone out there was feeling psychic today. He was immediately struck with the terrible thought of Loki's mother hearing him, and tried to send a few pathetic apologies out into the void. Then again, she  _did_  lock Loki up. Then again again, she was sort of Loki's  _mother_.

 

Honestly, Tony was afraid he might actually be losing his mind a little bit. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or his constant state of alert and afraid that was making him loopy enough to apologize to some lady who probably didn't hear him mentally cuss at someone. 

 

"The Allfather has not granted you permission to use the grand hall," the servant drawled, sounding 300 years past bored with Fandral's shit already. "And only one table fits in the first hall, sir." 

 

The hand on top of his head curled, sharp finger nails digging into his scalp. "And why have I not been granted permission?" 

 

"The Allfather has yet to hear your request, sir." 

 

"He hasn't even heard it yet?!" Fandral snarled, digging his nails in harder. Tony tried to hold back a wince, but he's 90% sure the asshole has drawn blood. "If Thor were here—"

 

"Prince Thor is granted free reign over the great hall," the servant reminded him, giving Fandral an apologetic look that seemed entirely too smug to be authentic. "If you would like, sir, I can contact Thor and—"

 

"No," Fandral interrupted, lifting his hand away from Tony's head and waving it at the servant. "No, forget it. I shall be using the first hall, it seems. Have someone extend the usual table, I have a lot of guests." 

 

The man bowed—more like nodded—and left the room faster than Tony could blink. Aaaaand, great. He just suffered through the worst scalp massage in the world for nothing. So Fandral can't use the great hall, whoopty-fucking-do. He had no idea who was coming, when this event was even happening, or what Fandral's plans were for him during this shindig. 

 

Fandral hummed unhappily. "All this business with you and Loki seems to be taking up the Allfather's time." Tony risked a glance at Fandral, only to find him staring directly at him. "Do you know how surprised everyone was when he escaped this last time?" 

 

Tony had a feeling they were probably pretty startled, he knew he was at the time. He shrugged. 

 

"That prison cell of his was meant to be impregnable, impossible to break out of," Fandral continued, artfully curling his fingers under his chin as he watched Tony. "They were all so  _shocked_  to hear how he threw his powers away and escaped to the mortal realm. Not I, of course. I always knew how low that worm would crawl for his precious 'freedom.'" 

 

Tony left his face passive, and simply nodded his head for Fandral to continue. The man did like the sound of his own voice, after all. 

 

"The trouble is—" yep, there he goes, "—Loki was not meant to access his power again, not ever. There was no viable way for him to do such a thing. And yet... Heimdall saw him use his magic time and time again." Fandral narrow his eyes, and snapped a hand back out to grab Tony'a hair.   "Just how is it that he has his power again, little mortal?" 

 

Wincing, Tony attempted at a neutral tone, "I don't know how his magic works."

 

"You have something to do with it, I know this." 

 

"I was just as surprised as anyone else when he showed up on Earth." That wasn't a lie, at least. 

 

"Then why is it that the Allfather sent you to the same cell?" Fandral hissed, pulling Tony closer by his hair. "Tell me, mortal, why do you matter to  _anyone_?" 

 

Tony flashed a quick smile, and replied, "I'm prime goods, I guess." 

 

Fandral growled, and shoved Tony away, sending him sprawling on his back. It was jarring, but nothing too—

 

Fandral lashed out with a foot, catching Tony in the ribs. Tony bit back the cry of pain that threatens to escape, and curled in to protect his head. 

 

"Always—" Fandral stomped on Tony's ankle, "—talking back to me!" 

 

Tony barked out a weak laugh, and tried to roll away from the attack, reaching out and pulling himself up by the arm of Fandral's chair. The man lunged for him before he could even rise, fists aimed for his stomach. Tony managed to block one of them, but Fandral was too fast and caught his ribs with another blow. Wheezing, Tony tried to move back and get some room to maneuver himself into a better position. This wasn't supposed to happen, not now. He hadn't planned for this until the end. When, hopefully, he'd have some sort of weapon on hand. 

 

"I'm surprised," he wheezed out, catching another swing of Fandral's fists. "I thought you had more class." 

 

Sneering, Fandral brought a knee up and caught him in the groin. He wasn't fast enough, dammit. It had been days since he was near Loki, he was just barely holding himself together at a regular level. He was nowhere near peak condition. 

 

Tony fell to he knees, barely able to fend off another volley of fists against his skull and back. The world tilted sideways. Fandral laughed wickedly. 

 

"I tire of your mouth," he purred, kicking Tony in the stomach one more time. "I think it's high time we did something about it." 

 

 

* * *

 

Loki heard that voice in the back of his mind again. It was screaming, clawing at him to  _go, hurry! Help Anthony!_  

 

It left him feeling anxious and hollowed out at the same time. 

 

There  _was_  no way to help him, no magic strong enough to break the cell open and storm the castle. Loki was powerful, when he had full access to his magic, but never enough to break what the Allfather cast upon the dungeons. There were wards, and then there were  _wards_. Between Loki and Anthony, there were at least a dozen or so traps and alarms to deter escapees from making their move upstairs. The rich and powerful of Asgard would always been thoroughly protected. To escape the palace itself, well, that was a somewhat easier path. 

 

One Loki was not willing to take alone. 

 

_Go! Help him!_

 

"But  _how_?" Loki hissed, covering his face with an arm. The voice offered no advice, but continued to rake its claws through his mind. 

 

The stairs by his cell lead upward to a set of corridors filled with traps. Several he had once had a hand in, himself. Back when he was still a part of this realm. From there, it was a winding set of stairs no escapee was foolish enough to brave. They were designed to trap you between a sword and a hard place. But if you managed it, somehow, you would at last arrive in one of the smaller ambulatories outside of the great hall. If Loki could just get there, he could find Anthony no matter where he was hiding. 

 

There was just the issue of the Allfather, the guards, guests, Thor's moronic friends, very little magic, and a growing ache in his fingers that left every movement stiff and slow. 

 

Loki swore into the rough fabric of his sleeve, and tried to re-route from the outside of the palace. 

 

From here, it was down the sewer, following the flow around the first bend, avoiding the blades installed by Heimdall after a particularly violent escape, out to the lower sewage pool, crawling through gods knows what, making his way to the gardens, hoping no one notices the stench, and somehow working his way back into the palace through one of his hidden pathways. If, somehow, any of them were left unnoticed. 

 

Loki went to curse again, but was startled by the soft buzz of someone touching the ward around his cell. 

 

"What is it now?" He drawled, hoping his show of boredom would send them away. 

 

"And here I thought you would want to see how your companion was doing?" 

 

Loki jerked his arm away from his face and sat up. There Fandral was, leaning casually against the force field with a smirk on his face. He was empty-handed, and dressed obnoxiously in familiar green and gold. 

 

"Where is he?" He asked, not bothering to hide his eagerness to see Anthony. It has been too long, the ache moving from his hands to his chest. To his heart. 

 

Fandral chuckled—Loki was looking forward to mashing his face into the floor—and waved a hand behind him. There was a shuffling sound from the faint shadows of the dungeon, and a moment later a hunched over figure appeared in the soft glow of Loki's cell. It took him a moment to recognize Anthony. 

 

"What have you done?" He whispered, voice harsh with disbelief. 

 

Anthony was heavily bruised, his blind eye swollen completely shut, and a stain of red leading from his scalp to his jaw. His jaw, though... was wired into some sort of contraption that rested heavily on the man's shoulders. 

 

"Do you like it?" Fandral beamed. "I crafted it myself after I saw what they did to your lips. I wasn't about to get blood under my nails, obviously, so I came up with the next best thing." 

 

"Anthony..." Loki's heart stuttered in his chest when he realized here would be no answer. Heavy bolts were pressed into the skin of Anthony's jaw, forcing his mouth to remain closed. The wood apparatus curved up over his head, and bolted down on both sides. It looked heavy, and painful.  

 

"Why?" Loki asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the mortal. Anthony would not break his gaze. "Why do this to him? He has done  _nothing_!" 

 

"Oh, that's an outright lie," Fandral replied. "You can't possibly think no one would notice how you two are bound? Why do you think you got to share a cell before I came along? Who do you think allowed me to take the mortal with me?" 

 

Fandral laughed. "You didn't really think it was a secret, did you?" 

 

Loki paled, watching Anthony's eye widen with fear. He clearly haven't given anything away voluntarily, he was too surprised for that, but something had given them away. Someone had to have known before they had even arrived. 

 

Fandral lets out a pleased sigh, "The Allfather likes his experiments, it seems." 

 

Something small and old—something buried deep inside of Loki's chest— breaks. Perhaps it was that small, childish belief that his father was still out there somewhere, still loved him even the smallest bit, still felt  _something_  for him. 

 

Perhaps it was just the sound of the last straw falling into place.

 

Loki dove forward with a roar, ramming into the magic field with all his strength and rage. The magic crackled, attacking him as he attacked it. He roared again, mindless of the shouts coming from the guards, his eyes only for Anthony.

 

 Anthony, who was being dragged away from Fandal by the neck. 

 

Loki screamed, curling his fingers into the shield and ripping it apart. All he needed was one hole, and he was through, flicking across the room in the blink of an eye. Fandral skidded to a stop as he appeared before him, hand going to the sword on his belt. Loki attacked before he could even draw it, nails burying themselves in the flesh of Fandral's face. 

 

There was shouting, barely heard over the man's shrieks of pain, and a crash. Loki dug them in deeper, went for the eyes. Pressed, and pressed, and pressed. 

 

A hand touched his shoulder, too gentle to be anyone but Anthony. It tugged, silently begging for Loki to let it go. 

 

_Go. Run. Escape._

 

Loki's eyes found Anthony, standing by his side with Fandral's sword in hand. His one good eye slid to the guards approaching them, and back again. 

 

_Come on, let's get the fuck out of here already._

 

He didn't need to be told twice. 

 

Loki released his hold on Fandral, letting him scramble backwards with another scream, wrapped an arm around Anthony, and teleported them to the drain cover near the back of the dungeons. 

 

"This is going to be unpleasant," he warned, and smiled at the eye-roll he got in response. "More unpleasant with that device on you, i'm afraid." 

 

Anthony's gaze read an obvious, _I don't care_. 

 

"Off we go, then," Loki said, and sent them down into the sewage. 

 

They landed with a squish rather than a splash, but there was no time for thinking about that. Loki had them moving before Anthony could even get his feet under him. Not that he seemed to mind, he leaned heavily into Loki's body, feeling lighter and more frail than he had the last time the god had him in his arms. He was easily moved, at least, when it came time to squeeze past the blades and drop down into the cesspit bellow. 

 

"I almost envy your inability to vomit at the moment," Loki commented, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat. 

 

_Yeah, i'm so lucky._  

 

Loki chuckled darkly, and swam them towards the outer grate. He could see sunlight through the metal bars, and the sweet, fresh air called to him. 

 

"We need to duck under that," he told Anthony, and was answered with a stiff, painful-looking nod. 

 

Loki took a deep breath—ugh—and dunked them both into the muck. He blindly moved them forward, following the dull pull of the current leading through the grate. Once they passed through the broken bars below, he pushed them up from the bottom to break the surface just as they tumbled over the falls that lead them outside. 

 

Loki lost his grasp on Anthony when they fell, but was glad to find him drifting not a few feet away when they surfaced again. 

 

"That wasn't so terrible," he remarked, earning himself a sharp glare from his companion. "It could have been worse." 

 

Anthony reached up and knocked his bruised knuckles on the wood arched over his shoulders. Loki had no idea what that meant, but alright. 

 

"Come, let us remove that infernal device from you," he said, pulling Anthony towards the edge of the pool. There was enough shrubbery for them to crawl out from the pool and hide away from

the stench of the sewage under a low hanging tree. 

 

Loki eyed the device with irritation, wanting nothing more than to rip it free and smash it to pieces. As much as he craved violence, that simply would do. Not with the bolts digging into Anthony's already battered flesh. 

 

"This may hurt." 

 

_No duh._

 

"Try not to scream," he warned, and began to strip the device away piece by piece. 

 

To his credit, Anthony did not scream. He did moan, and dig his nails into Loki's thighs as he held on for dear life. It took several minutes to remove, and Loki spent all of them mumbling curses for Fandral and his entire family line. Once the last piece was stripped away from his shoulders, Anthony sagged forward with a gasp, and leaned heavily into Loki's chest. 

 

"We... smell...  _so bad_ ," Anthony groaned.

 

Loki chuckled, and made a poor attempt at cleaning them off with his magic. It was starting to flicker and fade after the strain of breaking through the Allfather's wards, but at least they were mostly dry. He couldn't say much about cleanliness, but it was an improvement. 

 

Anthony lifted his battered face, and offered Loki a weak smile in thanks. "I didn't think I was gonna see you again." 

 

"I thought you were supposed to be a genius." 

 

"I am, i'm also a pessimist." 

 

"Shame, so much potential. All a waste." 

 

Anthony laughed, and shook his head. He looked terrible. Beaten and smelly, and exhausted. He was the most beautiful thing Loki's ever seen. 

 

"I love you," he blurted out, and immediately winced.

 

Anthony didn't flinch away, however, or even look remotely surprised. He simply nodded, and flashed a brilliant smile. 

 

"Yeah, I think I noticed," he said, pulling the god close and kissing him. He tasted like blood and bile, but Loki was too exhausted and exulted to care.

 

"I love you too," Anthony whispered between kisses. "Just you know." 

 

Loki smiled against his lips. 

 

He had noticed. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"I warned you not to push too far."

 

 

Fandral whimpered. Odin gave a sniff of disapproval, and moved away from the healing table.  

 

"He broke through the wards like they were paper." 

 

"I don't know how he did it!" Fandral snapped, wishing he could see where the Allfather was. He could feel Odin's anger building, and knew he would be baring the brunt of it. 

 

"You pushed him too far, said or did something foolish," Odin snarled. 

 

Flinching, Fandral murmured, "All I did was mute his precious little mortal." 

 

"The short man?" 

 

"Yes. I believed... I had thought he cared little for him, but it seems I was... wrong." 

 

Odin appeared above him once again, strange smile upon his lips. 

 

"So you did little more than fail me completely," he said, waving the healers away before they were finished. "You shan't go unrewarded for that." 

 

Fandral sputtered, wincing as every little expression pulled on the torn flesh of his face. "The—the healers?" 

 

"Oh, they are finished. You may go." 

 

Fandral stared at the Allfather, a dreadful realization creeping up on him. This was his punishment for his failure, a scarred face from Loki's claws. To forever be disfigured was... cruel. Odin's expression remained flat, and Fandral quickly ducked his head to avoid his gaze.  

 

"I will... go now," he murmured, sliding his way off the table and hurrying away. Just as he reached the door, he heard Odin call out. 

 

"You say he broke through when he saw the mortal in discomfort?" 

 

Fandral shivered, and replied, "Soon after. He seemed mad with rage." 

 

Odin had that odd smile again.

 

"Interesting." 


End file.
